


Suicide Note

by Autumn_Maple_Tree



Series: The Ancestor [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 46,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Maple_Tree/pseuds/Autumn_Maple_Tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam figures things out. Olle finally comes clean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second work I wrote in this series. The first one is, actually, about the fallout of defeating the Darkness. 
> 
> Both started out as a therapy exercise where I was supposed to write about myself, but project all my issues onto this third person character so I could stand back to look at them, see them as flawed but not hopeless or worthless. I didn't exactly do that, and I'm not Olle, not really, but a lot of what is in here is me; really the real me.
> 
> Fortunately, I'm left with some level of anonymity here and the only person I'm even remotely worried about reading this is my cousin. If she finds it, she can think what she wants about it, and me, and tell who she wants, whatever she wants, because everything is true; no matter who shouts otherwise. 
> 
> Writing about it helps me. Which doesn't mean I'm sure I should be posting it. But, I've been told it is a way to get it even further out of my head. Sitting here, doing this, stops the voice in my head that refuses to shut up otherwise. 
> 
> If it is no good, if it's brilliant, if everyone loves it, if everyone hates it; doesn't matter. I feel lighter.

Sam wasn't sure volunteering at Goodwill was the best use of his time while he and Dean were still fighting the Darkness but, when every lead led them nowhere, he needed to know he was doing something for the greater good. This job in North Carolina seemed like a step in the right direction. They guessed they were hunting for a cursed object to stop what they think is a ghost and had traced it to this little shop in this tiny city north of Raleigh. Dean was looking into the local history, trying to figure out why six bodies hadn't garnered more investigation by state and local authorities. In the cops' defense, there wasn't much they could go on; all the victims, cousins, had died of alcohol poisoning and smoke inhalation two weeks apart six months after their alcoholic grandfather died in a house fire his drunken negligence had caused. The best the boys could figure, the family had been passing around his effects from relative to relative until the last death three days ago; when the victim's daughter had donated everything to Goodwill. Sam had volunteered at the shop in hopes of finding the object and ending the string of murders. For the past two days, he has been organizing the store room and scanning for EMF while Dean searched the family history trying to find out what, in this mess of boxes and bags, Sam should hope to find. 

Just before closing, Sam is on a ladder reaching for a box when he knocks a set of black luggage with little white circles all over it down off the shelf and nearly sends his ladder crashing down as well. He is relieved he doesn't find himself sprawled out on the floor, and gets down to pick up the suitcase. The zippers were all undone, though, and he finds himself picking up three cases, a duffel with wheels, a small duffel, a bag, and three small cosmetics bags; and a green canvas bag that looks out of place with the rest of the luggage. He had already stacked all the black bags together, making sure to zip the largest case, then reached for the canvas bag; it looked like an old military bag that had been so well used it had faded from dark green to almost cream colored from washing and the handles had, at some point, begun to fray because someone had used bright blue yarn to crochet around them. When he picked it up, a red spiral notebook fell out of the bag, open, onto the floor. He noticed a date at the top of the page, earlier this year, and the handwriting seemed familiar; which was ridiculous, but he picked up the notebook and started to read. 

I think I'm transgender. 

I'm pretty sure I'm transgender. 

I know I'm a gay man. 

Which, by definition, would make me trans. 

The letter went on for several pages, describing the life of a woman with miserably low self-esteem who was riddled with anxiety and, despite asking for help, she seemed to consistently find none. The last two paragraphs made Sam worry and wonder, how had the bag, and the notebook, ended up here and was this woman still alive?

The letter ended:  
I am a trans man. I am a gay trans man. 

I am so completely over my own existence it is a wonder I don't simply vanish from force of will because I really do just want to cease to be.

It wasn't signed, but Sam was certain he knew it was Olle's handwriting; which was crazy! He flipped backwards and forwards through the notebook and found more journal entries, shopping lists, Christmas lists, menus, even addresses labeled “For Wedding Invitations.” The date at the top of this letter, though, was the most up to date; seemed to be the last entry. One of the addresses was local and some of the names and the last names could be Googled. Sam tucked the canvas bag under his arm, put the black luggage back on the shelf, and took the canvas bag out front where he purchased it then told Shandry he would see her for his shift tomorrow. 

He kept thinking about Olle, about how Dean had emptied a clip into him when they found out Crowley was feeding souls to Amara. When trying to feed him to her had failed, Crowley had cursed him with the same spell Rowena had used on Cas. He had been a force of nature when he had come at them; he nearly killed Cas and Dean had taken a beating that would have killed him if Cas hadn't been able to heal him. Olle had even broken Sam's ribs and nearly choked him to death. Later, after they had salted and burned his body, no one expected him to come back, whole, crawling out of the ground like a zombie. Then, it had been hours of Olle trying to explain his curse, and the rest of them trying to wrap their heads around an immortal brain surgeon who was the best damn hunter they had ever seen. Which stands to reason since he is who knows how old. The details were vague, but it was clear Olle was cursed because his soul could not be consumed by the Darkness. Sam knew his handwriting, knew that letter was his handwriting, and was determined to figure this out. By the time he looked up from his thoughts, he was passing the post office and less than a block from the rundown hotel where they were staying. He stopped at the little Mexican place beside the Family Dollar and grabbed dinner before crossing the street and jogging up the stairs of The Little Hotel carrying the luggage and a bag of food. 

Dean wasn't in their room so he threw the canvas bag on the bed, dropped the notebook and the food on the little table, put the bottles of soda in the fridge, and pulled out a beer before he dropped into a folding chair and fished his chicken and black bean burrito out of its bag and started to eat. 

A quick search with his laptop and the names from the letter meant he had a local address which, oddly enough, was right beside the hotel. Another search of another name found another address that was about a mile away so he decided to check the first one out when he finished eating and, when Dean got back and they talked more about this case, he would check the other one. 

A walk down the block proved the current residents had bought the house from the realty company next door and a flash of his badge there meant he knew the previous family had lived there since 1998 and had been gone since 2010. He also knew their names and knew their forwarding address matched the next address on his list. Coming out of Wester Realty, he heard the Impala, which Dean had been parking in their back lot as it was right beside the hotel. 

“Heya Sammy,” Dean said closing the door and walking toward his brother. “Find anything? Because I'm grasping at straws.”

“Nah, Dean, sorry,” Sam said following his brother as they headed back to their room. “I was looking into something else. I found something at Goodwill that could be a case, but I wanted to check it out before I mentioned it.”

“Another case?” Dean asked, skeptical, jogging up the stairs to their room. 

“Yeah, man, I'm pretty sure it's nothing. I got you some food. I'm just gonna take a ride and check it out.”

“You need me to come with?” Dean asked throwing his bag on the bed and looking at the table for his dinner.

“No, it's just a couple questions for a local family. I can handle it, they may not even want to talk to me.” Sam grabbed the bag then tucked the notebook under his arm and reached out to his brother for the keys. “I should be back in about an hour, it's just right down the street. Can I have the keys Dean?”

“Yeah Sammy, sure,” his brother said digging in his pocket while he rummaged in the food bag with his other hand. “Call if you need anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam threw the notebook and bag in Baby's passenger seat, slid into the driver's seat, and pulled his phone out to double check he knew where he was going. In less than five minutes, he found himself pulling into a driveway in front of a large white service truck with a boom and a generator on the back. There were cars on the street, so he figured someone was home. He stepped out of the Impala and heard dogs barking before a woman opened the screen door to step out onto the front porch. A short woman in her late fifties with dark hair, she was full figured, and when she moved it was with confidence. She was followed by a young man; younger than himself, though equally as tall, with the same dark hair and a protective stance.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Who is it Mom?” the man asked

They both stopped on the porch while Sam made his way through the yard to the bottom of the steps. “Hello,” Sam said smiling. He had grabbed the canvas bag and the notebook before he got out of the car. “My name is Sam,” he said reaching out his hand to the woman.

“Rebecca,” she said taking his hand. “Can I help you with something Sam?” 

She was friendly but cautious, he noted and he laughed a little to himself before answering. “I made a purchase at Goodwill today,” he said, “and I found these,” he held up the bag and book. “I found this address and I wasn't sure,” he shrugged, “they didn't seem to belong with the rest of what I bought. I was wondering if they were in there by mistake?”

“It wasn't a mistake,” she said curtly, “I don't want them.” Rebecca turned and made her way back inside, leaving the young man on the porch. 

When she pulled the door open a white and brown Brittany Spaniel wiggled out the door and down the steps to jump and sniff at Sam. He immediately knelt down and began to rub and dog, who whined and rolled over onto her back.

“Tess, no!” the man said coming down the steps. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“It's okay, she's a great dog,” Sam said standing and continuing to rub her head because she immediately lifted her legs onto his thigh.

“Let me take her inside,” he said taking her collar. He came back down the steps after a brief word to a woman inside. “The neighbors have a pitt bull they don't put on a leash and he keeps charging Tess.” He shook his head, “I'm Thomas,” he held out his hand.

“Sam,” he said taking the firm hand. “Look, I didn't mean to upset your Mom. I can go?” Sam left it a question and only half turned. 

“It's okay, what is that?” Thomas gestured to the notebook. 

“It was inside this,” Sam held up the bag.

Thomas took the bag with a shocked look on his face that quickly changed to devastated. “This was my uncles,” he laughed and held it to his chest. “After he died, Mom gave it to her.” His face falls then, he gets this look Sam is all too familiar with; had seen it on his own face everyday for six months hunting the Trickster, while Dean was in Hell, and Purgatory, and after he carried his brother's corpse back to bunker. “She'd tried to con it out of him before he went into the hospital.” Thomas hands it back to him and wipes his eyes with a sniff. “Sorry, you paid for it, it's yours.”

“She was...?” Sam takes the bag and waits.

“My sister. She killed herself earlier this year,” the man says angrily, at her or circumstance or what Sam is not sure.

“I'm so, so sorry,” he says with genuine sympathy. “My brother. I've lost my brother and it's devastating. I can't imagine, though, what you're all going through. I honestly didn't mean to drag anything up or to hurt anyone.” He is burning with curiosity, now, though, because he KNOWS that letter was in Olle's handwriting. 

“Thanks,” Thomas takes a deep shaking breath, wipes his eyes again and goes on, “She told me, told all of us, but we just...” his voice catches, “we just didn't believe her. I made fun of her.” He takes another deep breath and does not try to hide the tears in his eyes. “She took way too much insulin, with a bottle of rum, and locked herself in the trunk of her car with both sets of keys. It was 100 degrees that day; too hot for early Spring. I don't know how long it took them to find her but...she died in the road in front of the house; in my mother's arms.”

Sam looks to the road, tears in his eyes, and notices the For Sale sign in the yard; he sniffles before saying, “Do you want this?” and holds out the bag. He was going to offer him the notebook at first, press for information that was freely given, but he couldn't, not now. “I don't need it, and it has sentimental value, I can see that.”

Thomas wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and takes the bag, “Thank you.” He gestures to the notebook. “Was that in there too?”

Sam hesitates, doesn't know if he should mention the now obvious suicide note, but sees he waited too long to answer. “I don't really want to, I mean, you've been through enough.” Sam trails off and doesn't let go of the notebook.

“Keep it,” Thomas says gruffly, “I love my sister, but I don't need to read her reasons why we weren't enough.” He stands up, “Thank you for this,” he holds up the bag.

Sam feels compelled to say, “I feel like I'd like to know more about her.” He reaches out his hand and Thomas takes it.

“She was something; I guess.” Sam can see the nearly unimaginable hurt and fury warring inside him and he hopes he has not made it worse just by being here. 

“I'm sorry,” Sam says as they make their way through the yard to stand by the Impala. “Thank you.” Thomas nods and makes his way inside as Sam backs out of the driveway.


	3. Chapter 3

Back at the hotel, Sam comes wearily through the door and drops the notebook down on the bed. Dean looks up from his laptop and asks, “Find anything?”

“Nah, it was nothing.” 

He pulls his own laptop out and they sit on opposite sides of the tiny table for a few hours talking back and forth about the case, nursing the contents of a bottle of whiskey and a six pack of beer while they eat there way through a box of microwave popcorn and a three pound bag of peanut M&Ms. By midnight, they decide the object they must be looking for is a silver flask with the victim's grandfather's name engraved in the front. Sam thinks he knows, now, where to start looking at Goodwill tomorrow and they break apart, Dean goes to grab a shower and Sam turns to his computer. 

Sam spent their time talking playing, halfheartedly, at Solitaire; now he looks over at that red notebook and opens Google to see what he can find out about Thomas' sister. Finding her was easy, her Facebook profile was still active, and digging into her life took no time at all. As it turned out, all her online profiles were still active and he quickly had access to all of her email accounts, her credit history, her medical history, and he was forever grateful to Google because, once he had her password, he could see her browsing history, her YouTube favorites, and her bookmarks. By the time Dean sat down across from him again, hair still wet from the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs, Sam had found her obituary and knew where she was buried. He was curious, it was near Goodwill, and he figured he could take the time to walk over to the cemetery tomorrow and look for her grave. He had this feeling, a hum under his skin; he was convinced Olle was somehow connected to her and he was looking for proof. 

“Sammy,” Dean said shaking his head, “what are you listening to?” Dean grabs Sam's laptop and spins it around, but the obituary is what he sees and Dean reads it before turning it back around. “This is what you were checking on earlier? This woman?”

“Yeah Dean,” Sam says taking his computer back and pulling out his earbuds. “I dropped a suitcase on my head today and found this notebook...I think I found her suicide note man and it just...I need to know more about her; I don't know why.”

Sam spends the rest of the night going through every scrap of information he can find about this woman. He watches all her saved YouTube videos, listens to her Pandora stations, riffles her social media accounts, emails, and online storage caches; by the time Dean rolls out of bed in the morning and Sam realizes he needs to get ready to go back to Goodwill, he is desperate to speak to Olle because he would stake his soul on them being connected; they seem to have far too many things in common. He stands in the shower until the water starts to run cold and stops at a small coffee shop in downtown during his walk to Goodwill. 

It takes him almost all day to find the flask and his thoughts are full of this poor dead woman he has started to think of as someone he knows. He pays for the flask and makes his excuses to his boss about why this will be his last day before getting Shandry to give him a ride to the cemetery. He calls Dean to tell him he has the flask and ask him to pick him up while he wonders around aimlessly searching for her grave. 

He walks to the back of the cemetery, the newest portion, and begins his search. He finds her headstone quickly enough, and smiles sadly when he realizes she is not buried here; they cremated her and the plaque, laid in the space between her grandparents headstones, states she was placed in a BioUrn so her remains will nurture the sapling of a Maple tree. He sits cross legged at the base of her stone and places his hand on the ground, it is cool on the ground and he is not sure what to do now that he has found her. He pulls her red notebook out of his computer bag and opens it back up to her last entry. He pulls a piece of printer paper out of his bag as well, unfolding it to reveal the exact handwriting as the notebook.

The note reads: Sam, Dean. I'm worried about Cas, but I'm going to Kansas City to get some stuff. I'll be bringing back my bike. We were talking about Metatron, he is dangerous. Maybe Cas will have a plan when we get back. If you get back before I do, there's meatloaf in the fridge and fresh bread on the counter. Grill the sandwiches with munster cheese...trust me...it's awesome! -Olle

He had been right about the sandwiches and Metatron. Cas had nearly died but, after some quick thinking by Olle, the angel was fine. The hunter had gotten back to the bunker with the scribe, Cas, the angel's Continental, and the demon tablet.

Sam put both away again, pulled out his phone, took a picture of the marker, then called Olle.

“Hey Sam,” the gruff voice on the other end of the phone said after the second ring. Sam thought for a minute it sounded a little like the man from yesterday.

“Hey Olle.” Sam said not sure what he was doing really now that he had the other man on the phone.

“W'a'sup?”

“Hey Olle man, we caught a case in North Carolina and I thought your Wikipedia page said you did a stint at Duke?”

“Yeah Sam, for a couple months before my Mom died. Why?”

“Just wondering if you knew the area, north of RDU, place called Henderson?” Sam is being, shockingly, nonchalant to his own ears but his heart rate picks up when there is a too long pause on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah man, not really, I'm more familiar with Charlotte to be honest; it's the other side of the state but it's an awesome city!” Olle never flinches after the pause and Sam almost thinks he imagined it.

“Okay. I guess it doesn't matter, though, I'm in a cemetery now, waiting on Dean, so we can finish this. Then, we'll be on our way back to the bunker. Should be outta here in the morning.” Sam cannot stop looking at the stone and the white calla lilies engraved there. “Did you know that you can have your ashes put in an urn and turned into a tree? I'm sitting here by this marker that says these people put their daughter's ashes in an urn so she could be a maple tree. She was so young, just a few months older than me. Julia, I wonder how she died.” He is pushing, he knows, but he is certain he is correct, they are connected!

“What have you been doing there Sam?” Olle asks suspicious.

“I found a notebook inside a suitcase at Goodwill, Olle, while I was searching for a cursed object. You've been lying to us!” Sam is accusatory but not angry.

“It's none of your business Winchester!” Olle sounds angry, though, and defensive. “It makes no difference who she was, or how you found her! Who I am, besides what you already know, is of no relevance and I don't feel the need to goad you into telling me your life's story.” Olle huffs a loud breath through the phone and Sam hears the Impala in the distance. “Why did you call me Sam?”

“Who was she?” Sam asks sadly, all he wants to do is get to know this woman he has become so close to over the past day. “I...she...why did she do that?”

Olle laughs, a bitter sound, through the receiver and says, “Why do you care so much when no one else did?” He sighs, “Just get back here in one piece Sam and I'll try to figure out what I can tell you, okay?” Olle hangs up before Sam can respond, but that is okay because Dean is getting out of the Impala and coming toward him with a curious look on his face.

“What are you doing Sammy,” Dean shakes his head, “sitting on the ground?”

“Nothing Dean,” Sam says standing up and tossing the flask to his brother. “Let's just get this done and go home.” 

They make their way to the oldest part of the cemetery, where the ground is definitely hallowed, and they destroy the flask after a brief tussle with the old man's ghost. They stop at a sports bar in downtown on their way back to the hotel and, by midnight, are packed and ready to leave at first light. They fall into the queen sized bed they have been sharing for the past week and, after a brief fight for space and blankets, both men fall into an easy sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

After a brief stop in Ohio, to renew Baby's inspection sticker and get updated tags; they ran out in September and Dean had not renewed them yet; they make it back to the bunker without incident. When the boys have settled themselves back into their home, they begin the arduous task of continuing their research and their hunt for Amara. Metatron could offer them no new information really, but Olle seemed to have some ideas. It seems his hacker friend, and the people he met with in Atlanta, had heard of some strange happenings in Texas. With little more than the whole state as a clue, though, they were left with researching where best to look first. 

Amara fled Crowley, after his disastrous job of handling Olle, and was in the wind as far as anyone was concerned. Darkness was coming, though, and even humans were beginning to feel the unease of what lie ahead; it was like the Apocalypse all over again. Worse, Olle assured them, but Sam was trying to ignore that. 

**

A week passed where Sam was still curious about Julia, curious about who Olle really was, but, either by accident or design, he found himself occupied and unable to find a moment to speak with the man alone. Then, in the middle of the night, Sam found himself in the kitchen rummaging through the refrigerator for leftover baked mac-n-cheese Dean had made to go with the roasted chicken for dinner and, when the door closed on his full hands, Olle was staring at him from across the prep-table.

“Great minds think alike,” he said with a smile as he turned to grab bowls and spoons and join Sam where he had retreated to the table in the corner. 

Sam went back to the refrigerator to pour two glasses of filtered water, and return the pasta to the chill, while Olle put both bowls in the microwave. Sam handed his friend a glass and fell onto a stool across from him to start eating. For a few long minutes, only the sound of flatware scraping on glass echoed through the kitchen. “You know,” Sam said casually, “I've wanted to talk to you since we got back last week.”

Olle sighed and sat his spoon down then took a long drink from his glass before looking up at Sam. “I know. I've been avoiding you. I don't know what you want Sam; what answers I can give when I doubt you could come up with the right questions to make anything I'd say make sense.”

“Who was she?” he desperately wants to know.

“Telling you my story is dangerous Sam. Anyone knowing while Amara is still out there is dangerous; me knowing while she's out there is dangerous!” Olles says picking up his spoon to comb through his bowl. 

“Do you think I'd do anything that'd risk making things worse?” he asked incredulously.

Olle laughed, “Not intentionally, but you don't have the best track record in making things better by accident.”

Sam had to admit, if only to himself, the man had a point. He needed to know, though.

Sam had been watching him for the past four months, and especially closely since he began living in the bunker. Realizing, while they were in Charleston, that he was attracted to the him, Sam still found Olle a complete mystery. He was tall, taller than Sam, covered in thick corded muscle where Sam is long and lean; Dean made snide references to The Mountain the man was so big. His dark brown hair was cut almost exactly like Dean's, but shorter, and his elegantly almond-shaped eyes were the same hazel as Sam's own. Sam had been sparing with him, jogging and doing yoga since Olle moved in and he knew his legs, forearms, and chest were covered in a thick dusting of dark hair that obscured his tattoos but his pale skin made them easy to make out; an anti-posession mark over his heart is standard for any hunter, but the others? Names and dates on his left side, four of them, directly under his arm by his heart; though Sam had never gotten close enough to read them. A world tree on his right side is beautiful, even if Sam can't make out the details. There is a bold pink triangle at the top of his right arm at the shoulder; Sam thinks Dean has not noticed it because he would be a lot more nervous about the long looks Olle gives him. There is a very small semi-colon at the top of his spine; Sam had to look that one up but, if he is right about Julia, then it makes a lot more sense now than it had before. The last one is what can only be Odin sitting on Hlidskjalk with Geri and Freki at his feet and Hugnin and Munin perched one on his shoulder, the other on his chair, in black and gray, wrapped around his left calf. His physical appearance is directly at odds with the knowledge he is former military and a doctor with a specialty in nerovascular surgery. Fully clothed, from a distance, he looks like any rough neck hunter Sam has dealt with his whole life. Having trained with him and seen him in combat with demons, dragons, and Dean, Sam knows he is one of the best hunters, best soldiers, and most skilled warriors any of them have ever seen; Sam had seen angels less graceful in battle. He was well aware looks can be deceiving and Olle sets out to come across as far, far less than what he really is. 

“Why won't you tell me what I'm pretty sure I already know?” Sam asks sadness and curiosity coming through loud and clear.

“Okay.” Olle sighed, picked up his bowl, and moved over to lean against the wall in his seat. “When I was hexed by Crowley, I explained my curse to you all. I told you the truth; I cannot die, even if my body is completely destroyed. After examination, Cas pointed out to you both the physical appearance and texture of my soul, making it very clear my soul isn't intact. He took that to mean someone holds a piece of it as a way to make sure I keep coming back.” Olle laughs here, “He was thinking about Harry Potter, I think.” Sam laughed too before Olle went on, “That's not exactly true. My soul is spread throughout Creation.” Olle does not want to lie because he knows Sam will know, has been trained his whole life to spot a lie and a liar, but he does not want him to know the truth yet either. He figures half truths are better than outright lies, but figuring out what to tell is difficult. 

“What does that have to do with this woman in North Carolina?” Sam asks. “You've told us all of this already.”

“When something or someone is cursed, there has to be a lot of power behind it, exponential power almost, to pull off something like what happened to me. Grief and anger and love, combined, could conjure that much power. That's what happened to me. My mother cursed me as I lay dying and I found myself hurtled through Creation. Her exact words were, 'If you had it to do over again you'd go back to the very beginning, you'd remember everything, you'd be exactly who you are, and you'd stay until the very end.' I was found in a park in Helsinki, Finland an eight pound infant boy.”

“That can't be all there is to it!” Sam says flabbergasted but unconvinced Olle is telling the whole truth. 

Olle laughs, “It's all I'm willing to tell you.”

“So you are her?” Sam asks curious, shocked, and a little sad.

Olle takes Sam's empty bowl, picks up his own and goes to the sink to rinse them out and leave them for morning before he turns, leans against the counter, and says, “It's late, we should get back to bed.”

Sam does not move, he wants...more is the only word he can think of. He shakes his head, and turns to Olle, “Why didn't you tell us that to begin with?”

Olle laughs, “Would you have believed me? I didn't remember any of that, Sam, until the bombing in Africa earlier this year. When I was killed in Afghanistan, I has no idea what the fuck was going on!” 

“So Gabriel really did help you figure it out?” Sam asks. 

“I don't want you to think I've ever lied to you,” Olle says quickly. “I've stretched the truth and let you all make assumptions, but I've tried to be as honest with you as I feel is safe.”

“What are you afraid of?” Sam asks confused. “Why is it important we don't know what is really going on with you?”

Olle slumps back against the table, tired, “There are others involved in this and I have to be sure they can withstand the changes that will come with my complete honesty.”

“Who?” Sam asks. 

“Right now,” Olle says seriously, “that is none of your business.” 

Making his way to the door, ending this conversation, Sam reaches out for him and asks, “What made you kill yourself?” He is angry now, about Olle admitting he has basically been lying and he wants to push for answers that he knows won't help but will make him feel better. “Your mother couldn't even look at me when...”

Olle cuts him off harshly, “What the fuck were you doing talking to my mother?” Olle takes three steps over to loom above Sam, who falls down at the table; startled by the bigger man's sudden, angry presence in his personal space.

Sam sees rage and pain in Olle's eyes and is unsure of where he stands now. “She gave away some of your things to Goodwill. I found a canvas bag and a red notebook. I recognized your handwriting. I went to the house; Thomas was there.” Sam sounds contrite but determined. “I gave him the bag back, he wanted it, and I left.”

“Thomas!” Olle breath hitches and he touches his left side with his right hand, his tattoo Sam realizes. He looks lit up and curious and in pain all at once before he slumps down on the edge of the table in front of Sam. “Did he...was he okay?” He laughs a hollow sound, “That's a stupid fucking question; sorry.” He crosses his arms over his chest, hangs his head, and covers his eyes.

Sam knows he does not understand, cannot, and cannot imagine what it must be like for Olle to be so far away from them yet so close. “You love your brothers,” he see that in everything about Olle's body language and tone of voice. “Why, then, did you do that to them?”

“You don't ask easy questions do you Winchester?” Olle asked not moving from where he was. “She had a hard time Sam and, when push came, she'd shove over and over and over again until she just couldn't anymore. I just couldn't anymore,” Olle says quietly, voice trailing off at the end so lost in memory and thought the pain on his face was difficult to look at.


	5. Chapter 5

Olle leans his hands on the table and tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling. Sam wants to reach out to him, comfort him; has the panicked realization Olle is beautiful in his sadness and fear makes him stay put. Olle continues, “That curse wasn't the first time magick had kept my soul where it had no business being. My mother's power makes Rowena's look like a parlor trick, but she doesn't accept it even exists so, when she uses it, she has no idea what she's doing. She calls it the will of God.” Olle chuckles, “The will of God, she said, cured my brain tumor. The will of God kept me alive when I was born premature. The will of God kept me alive through countless episodes of anaphylaxis. The will of God,” he moves now, back over to lean on the prep-table. “The will of God had nothing to do with it. Psychological, emotional, and verbal abuse that made me feel like nothing. Asking, over and over, for help and being ignored or berated. A million different reasons, when all put together, are still no excuse, but I couldn't stay any longer just so I wouldn't hurt them; no matter how much I love them, ache to be with them.” He is crying now and Sam can not help but go to him, take him in his arms and hold him.

Olle curls up around the leaner man with his head on Sam's shoulder and arms tight around his narrow waist as silent sobs rock not only his body but his being. It had been months since memory had come flooding back to him and he has never said any of this aloud; never spoken about his brothers before, since the beginning of Creation; not even to Beth. It doesn't feel like Sam is willing to let him go any time soon, and, as far as Olle is concerned, that is just fine. He wracks himself into exhaustion before he stops crying and neither man has any idea how long they have stood folded around one another in the dark of the Men of Letters kitchen. Olle finally stops crying and Sam slowly pulls away from him, never totally breaking contact. “Olle,” Sam says quietly, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.” Sam leans back in and wraps his arms around the big man's shoulders. “I had no reason to push. I can't understand and I'm so, so sorry.”

Olle leans into Sam's embrace, curling his arms around his torso and pressing the hunter into his body so they are touching from hip to forehead. Olle has the fleeting realization that he is half hard from the feel of Sam pressed into him and the soothing, low timber of his voice, but he puts the thought aside almost immediately in favor of shaking off this maudlin conversation and getting some much needed sleep. Olle pulls back, lets go of Sam, wipes his tear streaked face with one large hand and says, “It really is late Sam and your brother is going to want to get started first thing. Aren't the two of you going to Texas? Amara will want to find allies, but she'll not stop killing once she's full grown. Creatures, even if they join her, their souls will be more to her liking, I believe, stronger than a demon's and, if she keeps killing packs, she'll get stronger faster than we can figure out how to stop her.”

“How,” Sam asks still resting his hands on Olles waist, “do you know so much about the Darkness?”

Olle smiles, “I told you Sam, I'm not willing to tell you everything; it's too dangerous.” Olle moves out of Sam's arms and retreats; not to his room, but to the hallway where Cas sits sentinel by the small bare room given to Metatron. 

Cas looks up as Olle approaches and asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah Cas, absolutely,” Olle says sliding down the wall to sit across the corridor from where Cas stands patiently outside Metatron's door.

“I don't,” the angel says with a serious look on his face, “believe you. You look utterly spent, and like you've been crying. What's the matter?”

Olle laughs wearily, elbows on bents knees, hands clasped together in the space between his legs, and he hangs his head. “Sam stumbled on personal information about me he has no business knowing. He confronted me and even the patented Sam Winchester sharing and caring wasn't enough to help me cope. All I really want right now is to kill something, slowly, or sleep for a thousand years and, since we've got urgent work, a nap is out of the question. So, I figured I'd ask you if Metatron needed to be kicked around some?” 'Or we could fuck,' he thinks to himself, but only laughs and turns his head up to Cas, who is speaking.

“I'm sorry Olle, no, I can't let you torture Metatron. He's being cooperative for now and that will change as soon as anyone puts a hand on him.” Cas is serious, even if Olle knows Metatron is just buying time. 

Olle laughs at Cas' seriousness and leans his head back against the wall. “Cas, I'm not sure how serious I was but thank you. You're right. Torture shouldn't be a viable option for working through my shit.” It's not like he was in Hell anymore.

“What short of shit,” Cas asks sliding down the wall to mirror Olle's position, “are you working through and is there anything I can do? Beyond torture, of course.”

Olle watches Cas settle, forearms on knees, angel blade in hand, hanging between his thighs. He takes the angel in; his beautiful cerulean eyes, those sinful lips, his taught body and he shifts his focus to look at the real Castiel beneath the beauty of Jimmy Novak's physique; any real image of him is indecipherable but the energy and power he radiates is just as enthralling as all of his physical features. Olle wonders if Cas would be willing to..., but the thought stops there when Dean's head pops out of a door just down the hall and he says, “Hey Cas, you coming to bed man? I was gonna take your place but Olle's there and you still need time; you're pretty beat up.”

“Will you be okay?” Cas asks.

“Fine Cas, fine,” Olle says shaking his head at how he had missed that. He still has no idea if the two of them are fucking, but Dean moving Cas out of Sam's room, and into his. was new. Normally, the angel preferred Sam's room because it was where the TV was.

“Do you need this?” Cas asks stretching out his angel blade after he stands. Olle pulls his own angel blade from where is was sheathed at his back and Cas nods before starting off down the corridor and disappearing into Dean's room. Olle sheaths his blade again and stands to check the latch on the door and open the hatch to make sure Metatron is still asleep on his cot, the only furniture in the whole room. This suicide watch for the Scribe was getting monotonous. He shuts the small door and pulls out his phone to while away time playing 2048. He refuses to think about Sam or Julia or his brothers or anything else he has been forced to relive tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam stood in the kitchen and watched Olle disappear up the steps and down the corridor before he took four steps back and slumped down on the edge of the table. What, he wondered, had just happened? How much was Olle hiding and what did any of it mean? He was determined to find out; and if he was blatantly ignoring the hum of his skin where it was pressed into Olle, at least burying himself in research covered all manner of sins. Sam shook himself, stood, and made his way to the library. 

Sam stopped in the library doorway and thought, but was not sure where to begin. He walked over to the catalog and began pulling all the information the Men of Letters possessed about curses and the accidental use of powerful magicks. Less than an hour later, the table was covered in books, boxes, and files. Sam had started a list of where to look in the main library and archive for more materials and his laptop was open under a pile of papers about the binding of powerful children by the grand coven during the middle ages. So far, though, he had found all sorts of evidence that could corroborate Olle's tale of accidental magicks and spur of the moment curses; many of them, like Olle mentioned, thrown by grief stricken parents. Sam looked down at his watch, just after four o'clock in the morning, and started to pack up his mess. He had found a few references to an immortal, though he could not be sure they were all the same immortal and he was even less certain any of them were Olle; there were references to the alpha vampire talking about a man his mother told him was ancient when she was born. All those records, though, were in the archive so he figured he could look for them in the morning. He could not get that phrase, 'back to the very beginning,' out of his head; if knowing about Olle was dangerous because of the Darkness, there must be more to him than he is willing to tell.

On his way back to his room, Sam wanted to check on Cas, who was guarding Metatron tonight, so he veered down the corridor where Dean's room was and found, instead of his friend, Olle; who was talking quietly on the phone with someone in a language Sam wasn't familiar with. The phone was on speaker, though, and Sam quickly pulled out his own phone to record the conversation before Olle looked up and noticed he had company.

Olle disconnected his call quickly after that, and Sam stealthily pushed the stop button on his recording while continuing down the corridor to stop just across from where Olle sat next to Metatron's door. “I thought Cas was here tonight? I wanted to check on him; he's still pretty beat up.”

“Yeah,” Olle said, “I had the same idea, only your brother saw me and drug Cas off to his room to bed and I've been here since about one. I thought you'd've been in the bed hours ago; it's nearly five.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said running his hand through his hair, “yeah it is. I can go wake Dean up so you can get some sleep.” 

Sam starts for his brother's door but Olle stops him, “You need to get some rest, he'll be up and want to leave for Texas by noon. Just go to bed. I'll get Cas up when you leave and sleep then. I'm fine.” Olle knows, after their conversation, he won't be sleeping, so he might as well let Dean rest while he can. 

Sam shrugs and, with a nod, heads back to his own room. He is about to open the door when he remembers Texas and decides to go pull those reference materials from the archive now, so he can pack them to read during the drive. By six, he is back in his room with a box full of research he drops near his already packed duffel. He pulls his clothes off and falls onto the bed in just his boxer-briefs, vowing to shower in the morning, and is asleep in minutes. 

At eleven thirty, Dean's palm flat against the door, and that deep rumbling voice calling his name, jerk Sam from a fitful dream of being chased by Amara and consumed. He calls to his brother to shut up, then drags himself out of bed, down the corridor, and into a hot shower. By just after noon, both men are packed and on the road to Texas; where Sam thinks they will be in over their heads trying to find Amara. 

**

As it turns out, in over their heads was an understatement. Olle was right, apparently, and Amara has decided to start feeding on monsters; vampires specifically and, if soulless humans was bad, soulless monsters is a new level of hell. For two weeks they have been hunting soulless vampires across Texas into Louisiana and now Sam thinks he found werewolves; a whole pack, hundreds strong, who typically keep to themselves in the Bayous of southern Louisiana. He is pretty sure she is with them, though, not running or feeding on them, but letting them bring her humans, demons, creatures, it doesn't seem to matter. At this rate, he worries she will devour the planet in a matter of years. These wolves, though, are next to impossible to find and he is worried about Dean. His brother has been having trouble keeping his feelings for Amara separate from his desire to stop the Darkness. The Mark of Cain, in this respect at least, is still influencing him. Without telling his brother what he believes he has found, Sam has them backtrack into Texas and continue searching for vampires ,in hopes he can figure out a direction forward that won't get them both killed.


	7. Chapter 7

The day they return to Austin, Sam receives a call from an unknown number. He answers it, you never know who it might be, and is shocked at the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Hello Sam,” the smooth purr of the Alpha Vampire rings in his ears.

“How? How did you get this number?” Sam asks

“Please Sam, don't be ridiculous, I know what you've been doing. I wanted to talk to you, and Dean of course.”

“What is this about? Where are you?”

“You know perfectly well what this is about. The Darkness has become more than a mere inconvenience and I would be willing to proffer information if my safety, and the safety of my children, could be ensured.”

“If you're running from the Darkness then you know as well as we do, no one is safe.”

“I'm sending you a text message Sam, met me at that address in one hour, and we can compare notes.” 

The phone goes dead and Sam turns to Dean, who has been listening expectantly to find out who Sam was talking to. His phone beeps, the signal of a text, and he looks down, the address is only a few blocks away and there is a name.

When he tells Dean who was on the phone, it is an argument to get him to agree to even consider going to met with the vampire, but, fifteen minutes later, they find themselves loading up and headed out to, hopefully, get some information.

The address turned out to be The Intercontinental Hotel & Resort. Sam says a silent prayer of thanks that he and Dean are still wearing their FBI getup and Dean reluctantly leaves Baby with a valet before following Sam inside to the concierge. 

When the man looks up at Sam, he says, “Welcome to The Intercontinental, my name is James, may I help you?”

“James, I'm looking for Mr. Bella.” Sam is all politeness.

“You're the Misters Winchester?” James asks and Sam nods. “Mr. Bella is expecting you. I will get a bellhop to show you.” James picks up the phone and, after a few words, a bellman arrives and the brothers follow warily.

“You know,” Dean says quietly, “this could all be a trap.”

“I know Dean,” Sam say seriously, “but this is all we got to go on and we could use the help.” Sam has the brief thought that, after all this time running around dizzily, they should have called Olle for help. Backup couldn't hurt in a situation like this.

Sam and Dean are led to a small boardroom where the Alpha is waiting with six others. Sam tips the bellhop, who leaves quickly, while he and Dean stand just inside the door; waiting anxiously for something to happen.

“Why would we call you here, boys, just to kill you?” The vampire asks. “Please come in and sit down. We need to talk.”

“These are my brothers,” the alpha vampire says, “those of them your Crowley didn't try to kill, that is.” Six men the boys have never seen before look back at them with cold indifference.

“These are the idiots who broke Creation?” A tall dark haired man with green eyes and a neatly trimmed beard ask. He shakes his head and goes on, “The Ancestor is with them? How can he expect them to help him? He needs to find Lucifer. Make this boy,” he gestures at Sam, “take him up again and end this like he did the last time!”

Sam starts at that, Lucifer, what does that mean? He's worried by the nods and hum of assent among them.

“Now, now brothers,” the vampire says, “they aren't going to help us if we talk around them. Sam, Dean,” he says turning to them, “we need to know what you know about The Darkness.”

“Why are you all asking us?” Dean wants to know. “Haven't you all been around since the beginning? I'd think,” he says cocky now, “you'd be able to tell us a thing or two.”

Sam knows his brother is just stalling for time, trying to figure out what, exactly, is going on here, but, unlike Dean, Sam believes they could be helpful, insightful, and, if they were willing to cooperate, maybe allies. “Come on Dean,” Sam say with a soothing note to his voice, “they asked us here, to a public place, and they want to talk. Let's just talk; see what happens.”

“There now, Sam,” the vampire said, “making sense as always.” He looks around the room and everyone settles into an uneasy quiet, the only sound the creek of their leather chairs. Dean backs down and both brothers get comfortable.

“Why don't you tell us,” Sam says, “what you all know. We are grasping at straws here, there is next to nothing about this thing anywhere; even the angels are stumped.”

“Our mother told us,” green eyes says, “the Darkness was powerful, peaceful, blissful, perfect. God locked it away; He created the archangels to push the Darkness away and sealed it away forever; at the edges of Creation. Lucifer wanted to protect Creation so, when God forged the key, Lucifer offered to keep it safe. What you called the Mark of Cain was the barrier to the Darkness and it drove Lucifer mad carrying the weight of it. His failed attempt to destroy humanity caused him to pass the key to Cain as a curse. When you,” he gestured to Dean, “took up The Mark, it began to drive you mad as well. The peace and perfection our mother spoke of was what you felt when you gave in to the desire to kill.”

“I understand that,” Dean says. “Death told me the release of the Darkness meant the end of Creation. What he didn't tell me was how God stopped it in the first place.”

“You won't be able to just stop the Darkness,” a blond, blue eyed man says leaning toward the brothers from halfway down the table. “The archangels fought to keep it away for unfathomable time. They had to create the Host to help them wage war on an entity that is as powerful as God and He was terrified both of what He'd done and how He'd done it. Eve told us, that was why God went away; He couldn't bare to watch His son be driven mad or His children fight amongst themselves because He wanted to be the only all powerful being in existence.”

“But,” Sam says quickly, “could you mother have been wrong? We know Amara is afraid of God, but no one knows how God locked her away or why. Death always said he, they, didn't know who was older; him or God so Death knew the Darkness and if Death was always so certain God would die there must be a way to kill her too! We just have to find it!”

“That, Sam,” green eyes says, “would be a great idea but you boys, if I'm not mistaken, killed Death not a half hour before the Darkness broke free. God doesn't pick up the phone and you've both killed or caged the only archangels who'd know anything about anything.”

“Okay, maybe you're right,” Dean says reluctantly, “but who is The Ancestor? You said he was with us, who are you talking about?” Dean wants to know. “Is that the guy handing out visions with no meaning and useless cliches? We could use real help.”

The table chuckles at that and the blond speaks, “His name is Olle. I am Fenrir, alpha of the generations of were-creatures that walk the earth and he is my friend. Olle means ancestor in the oldest of the Norse languages and, when he was reborn, he could no longer be Mikhal so I gave him a true name. He helps you hunt the Darkness but he was old, our mother said, when her mother was a girl and he hunted us when we were young. He was the first to send Eve to Purgatory and he taught us to survive without killing; he taught us to be men, not monsters and many of us listened.” 

Several of the men nod agreement and Sam feels a shock of terror go through him when Olle's words echo through his head, 'back to the very beginning.' 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asks. “Olle is what, some pre-biblical hunter come to teach us about the Darkness? That's just crazy!” He turns to Sam who won't meet his eyes. “Sam?” Dean asks expectantly.

“I knew there was something. I had been doing research. I found a few references to an immortal. I found references, also, to alphas speaking about a man their mother said was ancient. I had,” he says turning to the room, “wanted to talk to any one of you who could confirm what I was reading.” Sam turns back to his brother, “I didn't know it was Olle, though. I confronted him the night before we left and all he told me was that it wasn't safe to know because of the Darkness; that it wasn't even safe for him to remember because of the Darkness. But,” he says quickly looking around the whole room, “I don't even know what that means, really.”

“What it means,” green eyes says, “is he could be anything. Fallen angel, Leviathan, even a creature of the Darkness or a man from the time before men; none of us really know what he is. We kept track of him, some of us, and we can sense him no matter what he looks like, although he always seems to look roughly the same. I don't know how or why, though it could be something he did. He hunts, like the two of you, though only when absolutely necessary, otherwise, he has always been a warrior. He always kept such a low profile he was never a direct influence on anything.”

“Not true,” Fenrir says. “He was forever hunting fallen. Those who reign in Hell and those who became demon.” The others nod. 

“Fallen?” Dean asks.

“When Lucifer was cast from Heaven by Michael, those members of the Host who joined him openly were cast out as well. When Lucifer was cast into the Cage, those fallen who were forbidden Heaven were left to their own devices. Many of them descended into Hell, where they rule in their Brother's name. A few, however, took up vessels. Some of them wandered the fringes of reality until they died. Some ripped out their grace and fell to Earth as humans; unable to stand the idea of forever being cut off from Heaven and sought re-entrance via a mortal death. Michael cast every one of those souls he could find into Hell, though.” Green eyes said it all with an air of authority. 

“How do you...I'm sorry I don't know your name,” Sam said. “How do you know all of this?”

“Mica, father of dragons; among others.” He smiles and Sam sees the beauty spoken of in every epic poem. “I kept track of Olle, who kept track of Lucifer. We were young during the war, ten thousand years old maybe, and Fenrir and I were still with Olle when he took up arms with Gabriel, Castiel, and Balthazar to hold the line on Earth; we, all of us,” he gestures around and all seven of them nod, “helped them keep the angel war from engulfing Earth. We fought Cain's knights and the demon horde they controlled, as well as the angels who found their way to Earth.” Mica smiles and laughs, “You have to remember, this was pre-biblical, none of the angels had vessels and none of the demons had hosts; there was still magick like you can't fathom and they were all fully corporeal and more deadly here than they would ever be again.”

“You all fought, with angels, to protect Earth from Lucifer?” Sam asks awestruck.

“Cas never told me any of this,” Dean says incredulous, “I don't believe it!”


	8. Chapter 8

Pulling out his phone, Dean dials Cas, and puts it on speaker.

“Hello Dean,” came the gravely voice from the other end of the phone.

“Cas. We need to talk pal. I'm at The Intercontinental Hotel & Resort in Austin, Texas on the second floor in the small conference room on the south-west corner; any way you can get here now?” Dean asks.

“Of course Dean,” he says finishing the word 'Dean' while standing front of him. “How can I help?” He asks looking around, eyes widening in shock. “Mica, Fenrir, Jorah, Tarak, Lanir, Mor, Nir.” Cas nods his head to each man in turn and, Sam notes, the alpha vampire's name is Tarak. “What are you all doing here together?” Cas asks, curious.

“You know them all, then Cas?” Dean asks sounding hurt, left out, and confused. 

“Yes, they are the children of Eve. Though Alza, Fir, Eli, Hu, and Piri are missing. Where,” he looks at Mica, “are your brothers?”

“They wouldn't come out of hiding for this Castiel,” he answers, “after what you let Crowley do to Alza.” 

Cas hangs his head in shame and says, “Yes, I understand. Please tell him for me how very, very contrite I am. How wrong it was and how much I wish I could take back all of what I did then.” Mica nods his head.

“You know their names?” Dean is incredulous. “So it is true, they fought with you, here, on Earth with the garrison, during the war with Lucifer?”

“What are you talking about?” Cas asks confused. “The war in Heaven was just that, in Heaven. I was stationed here, on Earth, since the very beginning. I had no knowledge of the war as it transpired.”

“Naomi,” Tarak says, “that whore bitch! Legion should have killed her when he had the chance.”

“What,” Sam says, “are you talking about?”

“Namoi,” Cas says, “is dead. Metatron killed her. My connection to her was broken when I laid hands on the angel tablet.”

“No, Castiel,” Tarka says, “it wasn't. Michael was the one who withdrew the Host after the war. Gabriel was the only one who stayed. I'd imagine he used her to alter all of the Host's memories.”

“What you're saying cannot be true,” Castiel says urgently; more like he wants it to be true than really believes it.

Mica turns to Sam to softly answer his question while Cas and Dean talk quietly with Tarak and Fenrir about what the angel should remember. “Legion was a member of the Host, old according to Gabriel, the first made who wasn't an archangel; older than Raphael apparently. He fought on the side of Heaven, but, after the war, he turned on the Host; why I don't know, but he was cast out as well. It's commonly thought he died during the fall or he refused to take a vessel and simply faded away; some say he descended into Hell but I don't believe that. If Legion were in Hell, he'd be the King and Crowley wouldn't have made it past Crossroads demon.” Sam looked a question at him, “What none of you realize, Sam, is there were more than ten-thousand angels who descended into Hell with Lucifer and Crowley had to kill them all to take the throne. He's one of the purest forms of evil I've ever seen, my mother aside, and there is no mistaking; he was born a human soul.” 

Sam is a little bit more afraid of Crowley than he ever has been before and, if he's being honest, a little bit dumbfounded as to why Crowley let him live when Rowena's little hexbag didn't do the trick. Sam just nods his head at Mica and wonders at the strangeness of maybe wanting to get to know these creatures, learn from them, hear their stories, and get a new perspective on history.

When Dean and Cas end their conversation and Sam looks over, he knows nothing has been decided. So, he decides a few things for everyone. “Okay, you've all told us that Olle was around when you were all just a gleam in Eve's eye; that doesn't help us when he's obviously not trying to undermine our stopping the Darkness. You've told us that the only ones who could possibly help us figure out how to stop the Darkness are Michael and Lucifer; who are locked away for the good of Creation just as much as the Darkness was. You, we, none of us have any idea what her end game is and no way to stop her. We do know, apart from the black smoke infection back where she was released, the Darkness is embodied by a girl named Amara who has a birthmark on her left chest of The Mark of Cain. She was bout 14 the last time we saw her which isn't saying anything because when we met her she was an infant only a few hours old. She eats souls, doesn't matter who, human, demon, or creature. That about it?” Sam looks around, no one interjects, so he goes on. “We've, none of us, got anything concrete. I've been looking for months, we've all been looking for months, and are absolutely no closer to figuring out how to go about stopping her. What do you want from us?”

“Well,” Tarak says, “we had hoped you were a little bit farther along than we were, but I shouldn't be surprised you're still playing catch-up.” He sounds disappointed.

“Maybe it's just the end,” a new voice says; he looks like Tarak but he has hair and his eyes are blue enough to rival Cas'. “They,” he gestures to Sam and Dean, “were supposed to bring about the Apocalypse but that didn't happen. Now the world, Creation, has to end somehow. Maybe this is just it.” The silence that descends after that is deafening. Everyone in the room is wondering if, maybe, he's right.

“No way!” Dean says finally. “I call bullshit!” He stands up, “We figure it out, like we always do, and we keep going, keep fighting. Saying this is the end of all things is just a way to opt out of the war! We always find a way and if God wants the end then He's going to have to show up to end it; until then we,” he gestures to Cas and Sam, “will stop any crazy son of a bitch who thinks they can come in here and take what we've earned by living and suffering and dying! This is our planet, our Universe, and our time; let the Darkness go make her own Universe if she wants one so bad!”

Every creature in that room sees in Dean the reason all their children fear him; why he's become a scary bedtime story and how he always manages to stay alive. He refuses to give up, even on a lost cause and, they realize, that is how Lucifer ended up back in the cage. Sam's devotion to his brother and his strength of mind and spirit carry Dean's never ending quest for peace forward when even Dean thinks things are hopeless. The Winchester brothers are, they realize, everything those nightmarish tales claim and much, much more.

“Well then,” Mica says, “I suggest you go back to your fight and we go back to ours. And we will call you if we come up with anything useful and you can call any of us if you find you need our help with the Darkness.” Mica hands Sam a business card before standing and, essentially, calling an end to the meeting. Fenrir gets up, places a similar card in front of Sam and walks out. 

Tarak is the last to leave, he turns at the door and says, “I was so hoping we could have made progress here today. She's destroying my children. I've killed hundreds of them in the past month; soulless vial creatures who were once so dear to me.” He shakes his head and walks out.


	9. Chapter 9

“Dean, man,” Sam says turning to his brother and shaking his head, “that was...” he doesn't even know how to finish that sentence. “I need to talk to Olle,” he realizes suddenly. “Cas, can you take me back to the bunker and then come back and ride home with Dean?”

“Of course Sam.” Cas says.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa here Sam, hang on a minute. We don't even know what he is anymore, who he is, and you want me to let you just go off alone with him? It's gonna take me two days to get back to the bunker and you'll just be alone with him that whole time?”

“Dean,” Sam says grabbing both business cards and picking up his computer bag where he dropped it when he sat down; it was full of weapons but his computer and phone charger were still in there and he needed them. “I'll be fine. He hasn't done anything to make me, you, any of us, think he's anything besides what he is. He's been honest with us; he's even told us there are things he's not willing to tell us. That just means we need to find them out and make him tell. If he's as old as they said he was, Dean, he may know something, a lot more, about the Darkness than he's letting on.”

“Exactly Sam, why, huh, why then would he hide it from us if he's trying to help us stop Amara?” Dean wants to know.

“I don't know Dean, but I'm going to find out! Come on Cas.” Before Dean can stop him, Cas lays his fingers on Sam's forehead and he is gone. Dean is so pissed he almost makes Cas blink him home too but then he remembers Cas would have to drive Baby back to the bunker and that just is not happening.

**

Sam found himself alone standing in the library and, a second later, his phone rang.

“Yeah Dean.” Sam answers.

“Sammy, what the hell man?”

“Come on, Dean, it's fine.” Sam shakes his head and starts down the hall. “Hey, ask Cas where Olle was when he left.”

“In the kitchen, Sam,” Cas says obviously overhearing the conversation with his angel ears.

Sam puts his bag down on the library table and makes for the kitchen. “Dean, I'm gonna go; just get your gear together and come home, everything is gonna be fine.”

“Yeah Sam, sure, like it was at the hospital when you were alone? Just, just be careful man; okay?”

“Sure Dean.” Sam hangs up the phone as he is walking into the kitchen. 

Olle has his back to the door, his head in the refrigerator, and he says, “Hey Cas, man, have you tried eating? I could do some serious damage with all this stuff I got at the Farmer's Market yesterday but I'd hate to feed it to Meta-douche.” He turns with empty hands letting the door fall closed and starts, “Sam! Is everything okay?” he is primed and ready for action in less time than it takes Sam to blink.

“Huh, what, yeah Olle; everything is fine. Why?” Sam comes down the steps. He was ready to charge at the man, demand answers, but Olle's concerned look and total shift was relaxed to war-ready threw Sam off his game. 

Olle visibly relaxes, shakes his head and says, “Cas got a call and blinked outta here before he hung up. When he didn't come back immediately, I wasn't sure but then you show up here without him or your brother; I was worried man!” Olle shakes his head and grins, “You've been gone for two weeks and I keep track of what's happening around where you are; soulless vampires, huh? How bad is it out there right now?”

“Pretty bad right now Olle; I can't lie.” Sam says truthfully. “Look,” he pulls his jacket off and drapes it over his arm, “I'm gonna go shed this suit and grab a shower but then we need to talk. Some weird stuff's happened and I wanted to talk to you before Dean gets back and starts throwing punches, or knives.”

Olle gets that serious look again, straightens and nods, “Yeah, I'll makes us something to eat; gotta feed the prisoner anyway. He is really annoying, by the way; it's tempting to just let him go no matter what he is going to do to himself.” Sam shrugs agreement at that and both men turn, Olle back to the refrigerator and Sam toward the door. Sam has no idea how serious Olle was; they need to figure out what to do with the former angel. Keeping him locked up is not a long term solution.

**

While Sam is in the shower, Olle rummages through the groceries and starts making what he considers real food; something he and Sam will both enjoy and Dean won't be here to complain about. He also makes Metatron a sandwich; the scribe doesn't get anything that can be used a weapon so all of his food is served on paper plates and he has a small sink and a single stainless steel cup. 

On the way back down the corridor from feeding Metatron, Olle is met with a damp Sam, hair dripping down his chest, with only a towel wrapped low and snug around his hips. Olle is dumbstruck for a minute. Sam's hair is a little longer than he normally keeps it, brushing his shoulders, and he hasn't shaved, so he has a very nice beard; just long enough to look soft instead of scratchy. Olle is in awe of the miles of bare skin marred only by his anti-possession tattoo and dusted in dark hair across his chest and along his belly. He has noticed Sam's hands before, it was difficult not to, but even the man's bare feet were attractive. Olle had the brief thought he needs to get away from all these virile men for a while and get laid. “Son of a bitch!” he mumbles to himself in appreciation.

“What?” Sam asks stopping in front of the other man.

“God, nothing, just, nothing.” Olle shakes his head but not hard enough to break eye contact with all that skin. “Go put some clothes on, I'm making actual food.”

“Okay, there in a minute,” Sam says and walks past Olle, down the corridor toward his room. 

Olle doesn't even try to resist the urge and turns to watch the broad expanse of muscled back shift as Sam walks away; his eyes dropping lower to the dimples at the base of his spine and the tight, rounded curve of Sam's ass moving under the thin towel. He sighs, what he hopes is quietly to himself, and heads back to the kitchen.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam can't get away from Olle, and the slow appreciative way his eyes crept over every inch of his skin, fast enough. The heat in that gaze was contagious and Sam tries to remind himself what he is doing back here and how much he actually, really, doesn't know about Olle; if everything the Alphas told him was true. All the long way down the corridor, though, he feels the bigger man's eyes on him. 

By the time he gets to his room, he is achingly hard and no amount of trying to talk himself out of it seems to be working. Leaning against his closed bedroom door, Sam gives himself a firm squeeze through his towel and groans, eyes closed tight and head falling back against the door. Thinking about Olle on his knees in front of him is too enticing and he drops his towel. He knows he should not be doing this, not now, but he sighs as he takes himself in hand, eyes still shut, thinking of Olle's mouth. He is so close he can taste it and he strains with trying to be still and quiet; knowing Olle has to pass right by his door to get back to the kitchen. The friction burns a little but a steady stream of precum is starting to help and Sam's breathing starts to keep pace with his hand as he remembers what Olle looked like a few weeks ago, coming out of the sauna on the training floor. Sam is maddeningly on edge and his hips start to keep pace with his hand while his grip becomes almost painfully tight and he cums, suddenly, with a groan of, “Fuck Olle, oh God!”

Everything seems to come crashing down around him then, like a needle across vinyl, and, as his breathing returns to normal, he looks at the mess he just made on his hand, his stomach, and the floor. He cleans himself up quickly, with his damp bath towel, and throws on some clothes. He is halfway down the corridor before he realizes he forgot his shoes.

**

Fifteen minutes after Olle leaves Sam in the corridor, the hunter walks in the kitchen wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt, his hair is still damp but no longer dripping, and he is still, Olle notes, barefoot. “Smells awesome,” Sam says grabbing a glass and pouring himself water from the fridge. “What is it?” he asks leaning against the closed refrigerator door to watch Olle tossing something in a pan.

“It is orange glazed Salmon, a brussle sprout, apple salad with toasted walnuts, and real lyonnaise potatoes. You wouldn't believe how cheap the duck fat was at the Farmer's Market.” Olle laughs, he knows Sam doesn't understand and couldn't care less but food is an art Olle loves to indulge in. He also knows, if he can keep the hunter fed, it may distract him from whatever brought him back alone via angel-air. “There is a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and a decent microbrew in the fridge too, if you'd prefer. I know Cas doesn't eat but I was in a foodie mood yesterday when I went shopping.”

Sam goes back into the refrigerator and comes out with the wine. Olle grabs two plates and pulls the salmon out of the oven while Sam grabs two glasses, a wine key, flatware, and cloth napkins from a drawer before he says, “I'll met you in the library.” 

**

Olle manages to get both plats of food and two glasses of water into the library without spilling anything and Sam has cleared off the end of a library table. The table lamp is on, the napkins are folded neatly with flatware resting on them and two glasses of wine are waiting when Olle comes in; Sam takes the water glasses while Olle puts down the food and takes his own seat across from Sam. He has a funny feeling Sam is trying to be accommodating because he wants something, but he spreads his napkin in his lap, takes a sip of his wine and starts to eat anyway. “Sam, eat. We can talk later; I refuse to ruin good food with bad conversation.”

Sam chuckles and smiles before picking up his fork. “Ugh, oh my god!” Sam utters looking up at Olle from his plate. “This is really good!” Sam picks up his wine glass and takes a small drink then continues to eat.

Olle hates to admit he is gratified by someone else's praise of his food, but it has been a very long time since he cooked like this for anyone but himself and he had forgotten how enjoyable it was. “I'm glad you like it. I haven't cooked like this in a while.”

“How did a chef become a doctor?” Sam asks continuing to eat.

Olle is not going to fight it, Sam is easing him into something, he can tell, so he answers the question, “Mikhail, I, was speaking six languages and doing advanced maths by the time I should have been in kindergarten. My parents transitioned me into a more appropriate grade and I finished school when I was eight. I went on to University and, I guess because my father was a doctor, medical school. I finished residency at fourteen and, by the time I was sixteen, both my parents were dead and I'd finished my specialty in neurovascular surgery.”

“How did your parents die?”

“My mother had metastatic breast cancer and my father was killed during and IED explosion in Afghanistan. I became an emancipated youth and petitioned the government to allow me to begin my civil service at 16. I joined the marines and became a combat surgeon.”

“When did you get out of the military?”

“I was killed in a suicide bombing in 2005; I'd been in the military for just over seven years. I returned to Afghanistan later that same year and infiltrated the group of terrorists who killed me so I could be found and considered a prisoner of war. I needed my identity back; I wanted to continue being a doctor. It was 2006 before I was discovered and I was released from service officially upon my return to Finland. I came back to the United States in the summer of 2008.” Olle doesn't say more, though there are volumes, he just reaches out and divides the rest of the wine between their glasses.

“So you became a doctor because the man who raised you was a doctor. But when did you become a chef?”

They are both almost finished with their food; Olle thinks about more wine but settles on wishing he thought of dessert. Sam is asking just enough to be curious but his tone is too even; Olle thinks he is definitely building up to something.

“She, I, went to Johnson & Wales University in Charlotte, NC. But,” Olle says slyly, “I think you already knew that.” At Sam's dimpled smile, Olle continues, “I was a terrible chef. I'm good with food, but I'm a terrible chef. Thomas would be an amazing chef; I told him that all the time. Engineers, attention to detail, he's just anal and mean enough to do it.” Olle laughs and empties his wine glass sitting back to stare at his empty plate. 

Sam's plate is empty and he is nursing the last of his wine while he thinks about what Olle said before responding, “Did you know, your whole life, about her? Is that why you were so intelligent?”

“I'm not who I said I was Sam, I'm getting the feeling you already know that somehow, but no, I went all of time not remembering, until history caught up with reality and I was living in a world where I was already dead.”

“So I was right!” Sam exclaims, suddenly angry; though it is more at himself for what he did earlier. He wonders, briefly, if he will ever just find a nice, normal, person to want to be with. “The very beginning meant the 'very' beginning. You're really 250,000 years old?” Sam leans forward now, body language demanding answers.


	11. Chapter 11

Olle laughs and reaches for his water glass. He takes a drink then looks around for the whiskey; finding it, he gets up to pour them both three fingers. With a sigh he figures now is as good a time as any, “No Sam, the very, very beginning.” He comes back to the table with their glasses and the decanter, sitting back down, he says, “I told you, and Cas confirmed it, my soul was spread throughout Creation. I was a human soul sent hurtling back to the beginning; I was barely even consciousness, but I remember.” Olle drains his glass and watches Sam do the same. He wonders if the hunter can conceptualize what he has just been told. He prays, silently, to Lucifer; telling him what he's done.

Sam looks pale, but his voice is strong; he drops his empty glass back on the table and says, “So you lied to me! You're, what, hiding here, keeping us three steps behind Amara while she does God knows?”

Olle is seething now, all thought of going along with Sam's questioning forgotten. “How dare you!” Olle is quiet but he stands before slamming his glass down on the table; the vibration knocks over his wineglass and it shatters when it hits the floor. He grabs all the other dirty dishes on the table and stalks off toward the kitchen. Better running away than throttling Sam. He had expected anger, but accusation? He never thought they would think he was working against them.

Sam follows him, grabbing his arm and pulling him around, everything Olle is carrying shatters when it hits the floor. “Really!” Sam pushes him into the wall. “What else are we supposed to think? You're lying to us, and you're hiding things from us, and you're not even sorry! You're pissed at me for accusing you of something you're guilty of!” Olle jerks out of Sam's grasp forcing the hunter back a few steps and he hisses as he turns for Olle again; that is when his bare foot comes in contact with the broken glass on the floor.

“Son of a bitch!” Olle fumes, why can't he ever just get to be angry, he wonders. He picks Sam up like he weighs nothing, carrying him into the kitchen and putting him down on the prep-table. Olle bends down to examine Sam's feet then looks up at him and says, “Stay there or so help me!” He doesn't finish that statement but grabs a broom and dustpan before stalking out of the kitchen.

**

Olle is so angry he can barely focus on sweeping up the broken mess in the corridor. With a frustrated sigh, he prays, “Luce, can I talk to you?”

The angel appears in front of him seconds later, “Olle? Is everything okay?” the devil needs to know, having heard Olle's earlier prayer about how much more he was telling Sam. 

Olle looks him over, he looks, uneasy is the best word the immortal can come up with. The harsh words Gabriel directed at his brother back before Halloween had sent the angel into a dark corner of his own mind, where he couldn't help but dredge up every awful thing he had ever done and pick through it with a magnifying glass. Olle's little breakdown in Idaho, trying to work through his own demons, literally, had unintentionally added to the blame the devil was taking on himself. “Do you feel like you could go in there with me, right now, and talk to him?” Olle asks, needing to know what he can walk in there and say without making it harder on anyone than it has to be. 

Lucifer blanches and actually take a few uneasy steps away from the immortal; all the answer Olle needs, no matter what he is about to say. “I don't,” he shakes his head, “I don't know. I will, of course I will; if you think it has to be.”

Olle reaches out, hand on his shoulder, “Don't worry about it Luce. I can take care of it. Just, while I clean this up, go get me two sub-q suture kits and one regular. I'll need some other stuff too,” with a forceful thought, Lucifer nods, knowing everything Olle needs. 

The angel is waiting for him outside the kitchen, everything he asked for stacked neatly in a canvas shopping bag. Olle let Lucifer drop the bag in the chair he is carrying, “I'm, I'm really sorry I'm making this so difficult.” He sighs, “I'm the oldest living thing in the world, besides you, and I'm a wreck. Soon, Olle,” he says seriously, “I swear it. Soon.” Then he is gone. 

Olle just heaves his own sigh, he knows Lucifer has no way to know how well he is really doing; when you are use to being perfect, any time spent not being that way is too long. The few odd months, though, he has been himself have seen him make amazing progress. If Olle has to keep him hidden and fight off the Darkness for a thousand years, he will still think the angel has come along at a brilliant pace. 

**

Sam looks down at his foot and, bad idea, bad idea, there is a large piece of what was definitely the bowl of the other wineglass sticking through the bottom and out the top of his left foot. Sam decides not to tempt fate and stays sitting on top of the prep table. The pain in his foot is about a 3 on a 1-10 scale, but, considering his 10 was somewhere in the cage in Hell, that meant his foot hurt, like, a lot. Besides, after being manhandled by Olle into this position and commanded not to move, it seemed like the right choice to stay put. 

“Manhandled,” he mumbles aloud to himself. He hadn't been manhandled by anyone in years, not since he was 17 and he shot up to six feet then just kept going; Dean tried sometimes, just to get a rise out of him, but Olle had just done it! A shiver shoots down his spine at the thought he kind of liked it. There was no denying he liked the way Olle looked at him when he was standing in the corridor, just out of the shower. He rubs his face to clear his head, what was he thinking? He hadn't looked at a guy like that since college, since Brady, and that was something he tried never to think about since finding out Brady wasn't Brady anymore when that happened. Of course there was Riot, he will never tell Dean the dog's name was Amelia, but that was so much more than anything else he ever had; even with Jessica. The bartender, in Philly, was just mindless sex, he reminds himself; not even lust, just a need to get fucked when Vickie didn't look like the type who would. “Christ,” Sam said rubbing his face and shaking himself to clear his head but he grunts in pain when his heel hits the cabinet and pain moves through his foot.

A few minutes later, Olle comes back into the kitchen carrying the broom and dustpan, full of broken tableware, in his left hand. In his right hand is a chair with a bag in the seat, medical supplies Sam realizes. Olle sets the chair down in front of Sam, dumps the glass in the bin, puts the broom and dustpan away, and washes his hands before coming to stand in front of Sam; who had taken this intervening silence as an opportunity to cuff up his jeans to the knee. 

“Why the fuck would I try to stop you from stopping the Darkness Sam, huh?” Olle asks as he opens the bag and pulls out a basin, gloves, sutures, scissors, and other medical supplies. He goes over to the sink and fills the basin with water while talking, “I want, need, to help you both put a stop to it! Am I hiding things from you, yes, without question. Will I eventually tell you both everything, yes, without question. So, instead of accusing me,” he says as he sits the basin on the chair and drops to his knees on the floor, “ask me what the fuck I'm doing so I don't want to rip your heart out for being an ass!” 

“You're right,” Sam says as Olle pulls on gloves and sorts through his medical supplies for a pair of forceps. “What I really want to know is why you're lying to us and why, if you do remember the Darkness, you can't tell us how to stop her, it.” He winces in pain now as Olle pulls the glass out of his foot in one piece before getting up to drop it in the trash. 

“I can't tell you how to stop her Sam, because I'm not sure how. I may have been around since the beginning but I'm still only a human soul, mostly.” He starts to clean Sam's foot, “I was aware but that's like saying so is the Earth. Until I had a human body, I wasn't focused on details and linear time and logic and thought processes. Humanity has only been around for a little over 250,000 years now and that may seem like a long time to you but, to me, it's really not. I'm working on it, however, and I have friends helping. People I can trust, people you will trust.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asks.

“Can you feel this?” Olle asks tickling his foot below the laceration. Sam nods and Olle moves through a series of tests; Sam follows instructions despite the pain. “Great, doesn't look like any tendon damage.” Olle is blatantly trying to change the subject, but this is also important, “Now, any tingling or numbness; not just in your foot but anywhere in your leg?” 

Olle rubs up his shin, around his knee, and back down his calf to cup his heel. Heat rises on Sam's fac,e despite his earlier attempts to not think about Olle that way, but he shakes his head, “No. I can feel everything you're doing to me. Nothing weird going on down there at all.” Sam feels like a duffus for how ridiculous what he just said sounds to his own ears and he prays, though to no one in particular, hoping no one will really hear, that Olle is completely oblivious; which he seems to be because he just nods and turns to pick up a suture kit.

“No strangers Sam, but showing our hand in any way Amara could find out about it is reckless and very, very dangerous.” Olle says. “And, though they have not all been allies in the past, I trust them and I know you, and Dean, can and will trust them all one day.”

“It sounds to me like you're keeping dangerous secrets Olle.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Dangerous secrets? How did you find out everything you came back here today knowing Sam?” Olle pulls a flashlight out of the bag and hands it to Sam, to shine directly down on the top of his foot while Olle begins to stitch. “Do you want lidocaine, these are going to be three layers deep on both sides?” Sam just takes a deep breath and shakes his head. All Olle says is, “If you make this hard on me now, I'll drug you for the bottom because I don't want to mess up your gait,” before he begins to sew.

“Dean and I were in Austin,” Sam starts talking to focus on something other than the pain. “I got a phone call from the alpha vampire. When we met with him; he had his brothers with him.”

“All twelve of them? They must be really scared.” 

“There were only seven. Mica and Fenrir were chatty but the others were just, moral support I guess. They had a lot to say about you, though. Wanted to know why you were helping us and told us things history had forgotten; things Cas didn't remember.”

“That's why he left like a bat outta hell. Dean thought they were lying!” Olle laughs as he switches thread and starts on the outer layer of sutures. “Cas couldn't confirm what they told you because Michael made sure not a single angel remembered what happened, except Gabriel, who never went home again, and Lucifer, who was in the Cage.” 

“What about the angels, then, that left with Lucifer?” Sam asks.

“They were cast out after. Michael was never nothing if not thorough. Bastard got better than he deserved.” Olle cuts the thread on Sam's foot and stands up. “Bend your knee up on the table for me,” Olle says as he moves everything from the chair to the counter. He sits in the chair so he is about chest level with Sam's foot and asks, “Can I have the flashlight?” Sam hands Olle the flashlight and he sticks it in his mouth to focus directly on Sam's foot before he starts to sew. Sam tries to be especially still for the next half hour, not looking at Olle's mouth wrapped around the shaft of the light, thick enough to encase three D-sized batteries. Once he reaches the outer layer of stitches, Olle stops and says, “You're going to hate me, but you can't walk on this until Cas can heal you. If I can't find crutches in the infirmary that are tall enough, I'll write you a prescription and get it filled tomorrow at the medical pharmacy when I get you some Bactroban.”

“Seriously?” Sam asks.

“Seriously,” Olle says, “unless you want it to cause pain every time you move your foot and especially when you put weight on it. I mean, two days isn't that long; it would be three weeks if you let it heal naturally.”

“Excuse me?” Sam says, Olle makes it sound like he thinks Sam shouldn't be relying on angelic healing.

“I walked away so I wouldn't beat you senseless. Anger management, I'm getting better,” Olle grins, “but you followed me, barefooted, and grabbed me when my hands were full of glass. Then, when I jerked away from you, you turned to reach for me again and that is how you cut your foot.” Olle puts the flashlight back in his mouth and starts the final stitches.

Sam has to admit, reluctantly, Olle has a point, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't take advantage of having an angel best friend. 

When Olle is finished, he wraps Sam's foot in sterile gauze before cleaning up his trash, and gathering everything else in the cleaned basin. Olle looks around the kitchen for a second then says, “You did all this so I'd have to clean up, didn't you?” 

Sam looks over his shoulder at the three dirty skillets and the cutting board by the stove, he can't help but laugh. “What if I did?” he asks with a grin; dimples on full display. 

Olle chuckles. “Come on then,” he says picking Sam up off the counter like he's about the carry him across the threshold of the honeymoon suite. “We'll stop at the bathroom and then I'll get you into bed before I check on Meta-dick.”

“I can hobble,” Sam says defensively, he is nervous because he is so much more aware of what is going on now. He can feel Olle's chest and his arm around his back while his own arm is stretched around Olle's shoulders. 

“This is so much faster, man, just don't get all bent out of shape that I can pack you. I'm six foot eight and I've probably got a good eighty pounds of muscle on you.”

“You're not that much bigger than me,” Sam says as they go up the steps from the kitchen into the corridor.

“You're what, six-four, and you're lean as fuck; it's nice, don't get me wrong, but I'm built like a bull and I work out like a fiend. I do yoga and I jog but I'm just built bigger. You're built a lot like the Winchesters. Dean is build like the Campbell's.”

“How did you decide that, how you'd look, I mean?” Sam asks suddenly curious.

“I think I've pretty much always kinda looked like this, mostly. Dark hair; hazel eyes; very, very tall; stocky most people would say, thick.” Olle half shrugs as they pass through the war room. “Looking back, I don't know where it came from except I kinda, sorta, look like my brothers. And I my Dad's mother had a brother who was huge like me.” Olle laughs, “I dated this guy a few years ago who said I looked like Eminem, John Mayer and Kevin Nash had some sort of hybrid love child.” 

“Where in the hell did that come from?” Sam laughed, although he could see Kevin Nash because of Olle's height and overall build.

“I know, right, I have no idea. He was a lousy lay and we broke up not long after that.” They made it to the bathroom, where Olle deposits Sam in the Men of Letters handicapped stall. Who knew, Sam thinks, they would ever need a handicapped stall. Olle goes outside and pulls the door to saying, “If you need something, I'm right here, but, just don't put any weight on your foot, please.”

Sam thinks he can wait until morning for any serious bathroom business, but he relieves himself while marveling a little at how mundane being carried around by a giant of a man, while talking about his ex-boyfriend, seems. “I'd really like to wash my hands,” Sam says to the door. 

“Sure thing,” Olle says opening the door. Sam throws his arms around Olle's shoulders and lets the doctor take him by the waist and help him to the sink, where he washes his hands, before Olle picks him up again and starts off towards Sam's room.


	13. Chapter 13

“So, come on, stupid things people have said to you about how you look.” Olle laughs, “I told you about Eminem.”

Sam laughs thinking, “I'm not sure. You're a tall guy, it's always the same, 'I wanna climb you like a tree,' and, 'You're a mountain of man aren't you?' just stuff like that. Jess never said anything like that; never compared me to bad musicians either. It was never like that with Ruby; she never cared and I didn't either. I guess there haven't been any others. Riot,” he said the name without thinking, “and I were built about the same but he said I reminded him of Mr. Rochester; because he felt like I was always hiding something.” Sam laughs sadly, “I guess I was.” Too late, he realizes what he said and he wonders at how naturally it all came out.

“I thought her name was Amelia?” is all Olle says.

“That was the dogs name.” Sam shakes his head as Olle puts him down on his bed, “I can't tell Dean something like that. As much as he'd want to be okay with it, I know he'd look at me differently and he'd be uneasy around me. I won't do that, I can't live a life where he thinks less of me for something I have no control over.” Sam shakes his head, “He's done that too much already.”

Olle thinks Sam is full of shit, but he looks frightened, so the big man keeps his mouth shut. “When I came out, I was 14 years old. I had just finished residency and I was surrounded by adults. I had the disadvantage of being intelligent and educated enough to know all the mechanics of sex, as well as having a thorough knowledge of both male and female anatomy, before I ever went through puberty. It was horrible,” Olle laughs. “My parents were great, though, they didn't care. But, you have to remember, I came out in Finland; a whole different universe when you think about LGBT rights and protections.” Olle leans against Sam's desk, “It was horrible. I knew I was gay, but I had no friends my own age to date. Everyone I knew was in their mid twenties at least!” Olle laughs. “I didn't lose my virginity until after I joined the military. A bunch of us got together on leave and went to Germany for Pride when I was 17; it was the craziest time I think I've ever had, ever.” 

Sam wonders at that last 'ever' and is sorry he missed out. He knows his brother, though, and he knows this is something about him Dean cannot know. “Palo Alto wasn't the best place for Pride. Neither was East Texas. Besides, I don't know that I'd even consider myself Bi.” Sam thinks for a minute about that red notebook, about her. “What was it like for you, before?” He is not sure Olle understands so he goes on, “What was it like for her?”

Olle is quiet for a long time and Sam thinks he may not answer but, finally, he starts to speak, “I was never really quiet about who I was, even though I was so hopelessly lost I didn't really know who or what I was. I remember watching The Real World, the one with Pedro, and knowing, just knowing, I was gay. I think Mom always thought I was a lesbian. I was raised in a very conservative family in a very conservative part of the country. I remember being constantly afraid of people finding out I wasn't like everyone else. I was shy and introverted on top of being fat and sickly. Adding my feeling of just plain wrongness to it was crippling. I didn't really have any friends but I somehow managed to know all the gay guys in my class. By the time I was a teenager, I had wondered, briefly, if I was a lesbian. My mother was so obsessed with the idea; I figured she was probably right. When I found out what trans was, I knew that was probably me in a nutshell. My mother knew it too, I'm convinced, because she said,” Olle laughs but it is a hollow, almost frightening sound, “she didn’t even call it murder, said 'I'll send you back to Jesus' if I ever said I was trans out loud.” Olle is quiet as he speaks and as still as stone. “By the time I hit 30, she'd transitioned to degrading remarks about how much I liked 'faggot' things and kept saying she thought I was a lesbian. She told me she wanted me to be happy, though, and, as long as I didn't subject her to my lifestyle, as long as she never had to meet the woman, I could do whatever I wanted because she didn't have to go to hell for me. When I'd really piss her off, usually accidentally, she'd get in my face and scream about how I was born with a pussy and I'd die with a pussy so I would always be a woman.” Olle is gone, totally; Sam is convinced he can't see anything around him, “She use to tell me my attitude would be more acceptable if I were a man, but I wasn't so I had to learn to be more lady-like.” Olle lets one single, fat tear slide down his face and Sam is broken inside but Olle doesn't move and he keeps talking, “If that one thing was the only thing I hated about myself, the only thing we fought about, and the only worry I had; I'm sure I would still be there. The first time I told my father I wanted to kill myself he said, 'Ah, now,' and the last time I said it he told me, 'I'm sorry you're having such a difficult life.' I'd like to think he would've tried harder if he'd known how serious I really was about how much I couldn't be there anymore.” Olle looks hard at Sam then, like telling him is facing it, “Like with any suicide, I never wanted to die, I just couldn't be me anymore; it hurt so much I didn’t feel anything.”

Sam reaches for him, but Olle shakes his head and wipes his tear-streaked face with his hand. “I'm gonna go check on Metatron, Sam, then clean up the kitchen. Can I bring you anything?” Olle asks still standing at the side of the bed.

Sam looks down at his jeans and sighs, “I hate to even ask, but can you help me get these over my foot?” He lays back on the bed, unbuttons his jeans and uses his right foot to brace himself while he lifts his hips and starts to slide his jeans down. Olle doesn't say anything, he just walks to the foot of the bed and eases the material gently over his foot and lets Sam do the rest.

“A glass of water would be great and, oh, my laptop bag and my cell phone.” Sam hates asking but he is actually comfortable and Olle may kill him if he sees him walking around.

“Sure.”


	14. Chapter 14

Olle walks out but, when he comes back a few minutes later, he has everything Sam asked for and two oxy. He makes sure Sam has a power strip for his electronics, refills his glass of water from the sink in the room and gives him another pill to take in the middle of the night, if he needs it. “If you need anything in the middle of the night,” Olle says standing in the doorway, “call me, don't text, it won't wake me. Do I need to come back by before I go to bed and turn your light off?”

Sam switches on the bedside lamp and says, “Nah, just do it now. Thank you.”

“Good night Sam.” Olle closes the door, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Sam is left in the dim light of his bedside lamp to contemplate everything that happened today and, he realizes, he is not really up for it. He picks up his phone and calls Dean.

“Sam?” 

The gruff voice on the other end of the phone seems like the most familiar thing in the world to Sam and, in his slightly drugged state, it washes over him like a warm blanket; causing him to sigh and snuggle into his bed a little more.

“Sam, Sam are you okay?” Dean sounds worried now and Sam realizes he hasn't spoken.

“Yeah Dean, I'm fine. Sorry. Just checking in.” Sam sounds loupy even to his own ears and he begins to think, maybe, calling his brother wasn't such a good idea after all.

“Man are you, are you high? What's goin' on Sam? Do Cas and I need to come back right now?” Dean sounds a little angry but more than a little worried, too.

“Dean, no, don't worry. I just, I stepped on some glass, man, and cut my foot, but, but it's okay, it's okay. Olle patched me right up and I'll be as good as new. He just, he gave me oxy for the pain and I guess I'm starting to feel it.” Sam giggled and rolled over onto his side to reach for the TV remote on his nightstand.

“Yeah, well don't worry Sam, Cas'll fix you right up when we get back. Day after tomorrow, I promise.” Dean says.

“Olle's right Dean,” he says rolling back over on his back and struggling to sit up so he can turn on the TV. “It was my own fault and I should suffer the consequences. I just don't want to be on crutches for the next three weeks!” Sam giggles again, but finally gets himself propped up against the headboard and turns the TV on. “It was nice though,” he goes on, clearly rambling, because he is high.

“Nice,” Dean says confused. “What was nice Sam?”

“Being manhandled,” he says it with a sigh and lolls his head back against the headboard but he misses because of his height and cracks it against the wall instead; he doesn't seem to notice. “No one's been able to do that since you. Do you remember the last time,” he says sitting up a little serious, “I was thirteen and I got thrown by that damn, I don't even know what it was, in Chicago? You carried me up the steps in that shit hole slum Dad parked us in for the night.”

“Yeah Sam, I remember, what about it?” 

“You made me feel safe,” Sam says nostalgically, “protected, small; but in the best possible way.”

“Okay,” Dean says a little confused again.

“Olle, though,” a shiver runs down the high hunter's spine, “he just picked me up like it was nothing and carried me through the bunker, twice.” Sam's twisting his head from side to side like he is trying to think and to focus but Dean is pretty sure he won't remember any of this in the morning. “And he let me talk to him about stuff; about Riot and about Brady; stuff I'd never tell you because you'll judge me Dean and it's not fair,” Sam is serious as he speaks and, maybe, a little pouty about what he thinks is and is not fair. 

“Wait a damn minute Sam! Judge you, for what? I thought Riot was a dog and Brady, man Brady was a shame but you stuck that demon yourself.”

“No Dean, Amelia was the dog,” Sam says emphatically, like everyone knows that already. “But I can never tell you that because then you'll know and you'll be all awkward around me and try to make out like it doesn't matter but it will, you know it will!” He sits up now and looks down at his phone, pouting, for a second, before he puts it back to his ear. 

Dean thinks he finally gets it and he doesn't care, it doesn't matter, and nothing Sam thinks will happen is actually going to happen, because Dean loves his brother more than anything else in Creation. However, he knows Sam will be mortified if he manages to remember this conversation tomorrow so, he needs to put a stop to it now. “Okay Sam, we're going to leave you're coming out to a time when we'll both remember it. Did you talk to Olle, about what happened today?”

“He's old Dean! Older than the monsters said he was, older than everything! As old as the Darkness!” 

“What the fuck!” Dean exclaims through the phone.

“He wants to help us Dean, he really does and he's trying but he isn't sure how. He says we have friends who can help but we haven't found them yet; he says he's looking for them.”

“Okay Sam, but what does any of that mean?”

“I don't know, I pissed him off, then I cut my foot, and now I'm just in the bed,” Sam says sadly with a yawn.

“Okay lightweight, get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow to see if any of this rings any bells.” Dean laughs and hangs up the phone. 

Sam dropped his phone into the bed and leaned back to turn on Netflix, but he was asleep before the menu finished loading. A little after midnight, Olle came back into the room, just to check on him. He turned the TV off, plugged Sam's phone up, cleaned off the bed, pulled the covers over Sam, and turned the beside lamp off before leaving and closing the door behind him.

**

Sam woke up a little after seven the next morning and his foot was throbbing. He reached, groggily, for the oxy Olle left him last night and his glass of room temperature water. He downed the pill and all the water before he looked around and noticed a set of crutches with a note taped to them.

'Sam, 

These are going to be too short. I gave Metatron some food and I'm going to the pharmacy. I shouldn't be very long, but use these as best you're able until I get back. There is food wrapped for you in the fridge, just nuke it for a couple minutes and the coffee pot should stay on until ten so, it might be stale, but it will be hot. 

Later, 

Olle.'

Sam swings his legs over the side of the bed and uses one of the crutches to grab his jeans where Olle threw them over his desk chair. He eases into his pants then puts on his right sock and a sneaker instead of his usual boot before pulling himself up with the crutches, to button his jeans. Olle was right, he realizes, standing to his full height; these were a good six inches too short. He tries putting weight on his foot, but it is immediately painful and he feels the stitches pull; if he tries to flex his foot to take a step they will tear and he does not want to try to explain that to his doctor. He uses the crutches, then, as best he can, to carefully make his way first to the bathroom then the kitchen.


	15. Chapter 15

When Olle comes into the kitchen forty-five minutes later, Sam has finished the fig and honey oatmeal Olle left and is on his second cup of coffee. “Hey,” he says dropping reusable shopping bags on the prep-table. “I ordered you crutches but they won't be in until tomorrow.” Olle starts to empty bags and put things away while he goes on, “I got ointment and an antibiotic for you to take. Penetrating wounds like that can be nasty and, until Cas gets back, I don't want you to get an infection.” He throws a small paper bag that has been stapled shut at Sam. “I'll clean your foot and put ointment on it, I'll check it later tonight, you should start the antibiotic now.”

Sam tears the bag open and dumps a little box and two bottles on the table. He grabs a bottle before it slides off into the floor and reads the label; it has his actual name on it. “Amoxicillin 875 mg, 1 pill 3 times a day for 21 days,” he reads out loud. “That's a lot of just making sure.”

Olle chuckles, folding the empty bags and putting them away, “I'm just being thorough. It's really just so you'll have them leftover if you or Dean needs them. You take it for five days, or until Cas fixes your foot, and save the rest. It's got refills too.” 

Sam picks up the other bottle, Oxcycodone. “Why?” Sam shakes the bottle at Olle. 

“I gave you the last three we had, unless Dean has any with him, so I figured we could use them. Just make sure you refill them before the scrip runs out. You'll need I.D. when you pick it up.” 

“How did the prescribing doctor pick up a federally regulated narcotic for a patient who is legally dead?” Sam asks sitting the bottle down and picking up the antibiotic to take his first dose.

“Dr. Mikhail Wallander wrote the prescription and Oliver Michael Davis picked up your meds.” Olle sits down across the table from Sam with the dregs of the coffee pot in his cup before he goes on, “As for you being dead, I had my hacker friends fix that. I was going to tell you both, but I was waiting for all the paper work to come in. The Sam and Dean Winchester, who were killed by the FBI, twice, are dead. You boys are now Sam and Dean Winchester, born and raised in Lebanon, KS; I'm pretty sure you both graduated from the local high school and your mug shots have been globally, retroactively, replaced by pictures of some of your long dead Campbell cousins.”

Sam gapes at him and Olle laughs. “How,” Sam is shocked, “did you manage that?”

“I told you,” he says taking a drink of his coffee, “I had some friends fix it. Give me a couple weeks and they'll have you both Federal I.D.; U.S. Marshall’s, FBI, CIA, even Homeland Security so good their own agencies would think it was legit. It took some work and we had to change your birth years and make you both younger than you are, but it's done.” 

Sam is floored by this. “Who do you know with those kinds of connections, that kind of ability? Was it magick?” 

“No Sam, it wasn't magick, mostly, it was good, old fashion, hardcore hacking by two fucking geniuses.” Olle smiles. He felt kind of guilty not telling Sam what Beth has spent months doing, but waiting for the right time was essential. “But I had a reason for doing it, and the pills Sam; I also ordered a lot of other medical supplies when I ordered your crutches.” Olle says seriously. “I'm leaving at the end of the month. I have to go back to Kansas City.” 

“What?” Sam is startled. “You're leaving?” 

“I can't just stay here, buried in research about things I already know.” Olle said getting up to make more coffee. “I've put things in motion and, soon, I'll be able to bring everything together. Until then,” he says, “I need to do something productive.” He needs to go home and work with Lucifer.

“Why,” Sam asks seriously, “do you sound frightened? I thought you couldn't die.”

Olle turns from the coffee maker and leans on the counter; he crosses his arms and huffs a laugh. “If Amara gets what she's after, if she tears it all down, I'll finally get to die Sam; finally! You'd think I'd crave it! But, God help me, all I can think about is the fact that I can't have what I want unless I'm willing to sacrifice my brothers to get it. You and Dean know, better than I could ever explain it, just how impossible that is.” Olle moves back to the table for his coffee cup and takes Sam's as well. He refills them from a still dripping machine and comes back to sit down. Sam still hasn't spoken so Olle continues, “I've always been damn near perfect at whatever I set out to do because I know, eventually, I'll get it right and I'll remember everything about how I got it wrong before and where I finally succeeded. Killing, hunting, war; I was always good at taking life, for whatever reason; even just because I wanted to or because I was getting paid for it. I don't have a soul Sam, not really, so none of it, nothing, ever really bothered me until I remembered them!” Olle shakes his head, tears in his eyes, and takes a long drink from his cup. He is lying, to himself also, but only Gabriel would be able to tell you how much.

“How did you remember them?” Sam asked. “Why hadn't you remembered them all along?”

“In the beginning there was the Darkness and God. Then, there was The Big Bang and it was small really but I was torn apart by it and it suddenly seemed like I was everything that wasn't God. The archangels were made, Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel, right before, right after; I'm not sure, they were just there right when everything started to expand. They used the Leviathan and the Grigori to push the Darkness away and God created the key; Lucifer swore to protect his father and his brothers and everything by carrying the key within himself so God gave him the key, he carried it inside, where his heart should be, and it burned him. For unfathomable time he writhed in agony with only Gabriel to comfort him; I wanted to reach out to him but I was too much of everything that wasn't anything. I had nothing that could give me focus to become something. God saw the danger of the Leviathan and created Purgatory for them and Hell, a pit of near endless nothing, to hide them. Then he created Heaven and the rest of the angels and the universe continued to expand exponentially while He created more and more things. I called out to God, eventually, and asked Him why I was so alone,”

Sam interrupts here, asking, “Alone? I thought you had everything to keep you company?”

Olle shook his head and smiled, “When I'm not focused, when I'm not trying to contain most of myself within a human body, I'm literally everything in Creation; I can't separate myself from it all without a human vessel to contain the human consciousness of my human soul. Ask Cas what he sees when he doesn't focus on one thing; what he sees is a blip compared to what I am; what I'm capable of becoming if I choose. When I asked God why He was separate from me, He told me I would have to wait until I caught up with myself to remember. When I realized what death was, I asked Him how long I would have to wait for it. He told me I would live to see His ideal reach its full, flawed, potential and then I had to continue on until the very end and there was nothing; not even Him or the Darkness.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam exclaimed, “you really never get to die do you? Do you think He, God, will help us? Have you asked Him?”

Olle laughed, “He doesn't listen to me any more than He does anybody. It was in Africa, when I was killed, that I remembered everything. It was Fate; I know it was Fate because I saw the bitch! I died and Julia died, we died, at the same time and I finally remembered who I was. I woke up at St. Luke's in Kansas City. They said I was dug out of the bombed out building after four days; they thought I was dead. I took a leave of absence from the hospital and, two days later, I found myself in Louisiana; cleaning up your brother's mess where he purged the Styne family. Remind me to thank him, by the way, I thought I'd gotten them all when I took the Book of the Damned from them and hid it. Really good job, too, of screwing the pooch with it. I killed that psycho bitch nun for a reason, you know. Prophet my ass! I just didn't hide the book well enough.”

“You know,” Sam says, grabbing his crutches and starting to stand, “I took that oxy when I got up so I'm a little high. This is all way, way, way too much information to process right now, or even when I'm thinking clearly. I'm just gonna take another one of these,” he picks up the oxy and shakes one pill out of the bottle, “and go lay down.”

“Just remember something Sam,” Olle says from his seat, “My brothers have to die old men, surrounded by great-great grandchildren; I'll burn the world down to make sure that happens.” 

“How do you live without them?” Sam asks, serious. “How can you let them live without you?” He leans on the end of the table and looks down at Olle because standing on one foot while leaning on too short crutches is just impossible. “I can't breath without Dean,” he admits truthfully.

“I ache for them. They never understood me, though, and they know nothing about what's really out there. Why make their lives more dangerous? Why ease my guilt and my loneliness by putting them in danger? I said once, I'd burn in hell for them; I guess that's what I'm doing. At least, I try to console myself, they still have each other.” Olle finishes his coffee and stands up, “I'm going to check on Metatron, then go for a jog.” 

Olle is a breath away from Sam, standing in front of him as he leans on the table. Sam wants to reach out to him in some way so he does the first thing he thinks of; he reaches out and cups Olle's face with his left hand. It is a gesture he does with Dean often but, instead of the customary pat, he brushes his thumb along the big man's jaw and squeezes gently before saying, “I know how much losing someone you love like that hurts. I wish I could take it from you.”

Olle leans heavily into the touch and reaches up to hold Sam's wrist for a long moment before letting go and stepping away with a quiet, “Thank you Sam.” Olle walks out. leaving Sam to make his way, slowly, back to his room.


	16. Chapter 16

Sam stumbles through the bunker to his room, dropping down on the bed. He props his foot up with pillows and settles against his headboard with his laptop before reaching to turn the television on, but his thoughts are full of Olle. He digs in his pocket for the oxy he picked up in the kitchen, but he sits it on the nightstand next to his empty water glass and tries to think. He pushes everything Olle told him about himself out of his mind and tries to figure out why he trusts the man, still, despite all the secrets he is admittedly keeping. He knows he needs to have a good argument prepared for when Dean gets back. He tilts his head back against the wall and, as it makes contact, last night's conversation with his brother comes flooding back. He jerks his head up and groans. “Son of a bitch!” he calls out to the empty room. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries to remember if he really told Dean about Riot or if it was just a dream or a hallucination. It is a few minutes after ten but he is pretty sure his brother will pick up even if he is driving so he touches the screen and waits.

“Hey ya Sammy,” comes his brothers voice through the phone.

“Hey Dean,” he says rubbing his forehead with one hand, “you driving?”

“Just getting back on the road after breakfast. You okay? How's your foot?” Dean sounds like he always does first thing in the morning, in some truck stop, dealing with a too eager waitress with bad food; he can hear Cas in the background. “Cas says he'll blink back and fix it if you're in pain.”

“I'm fine Dean, it's not that bad now it's stitched up. I've got it propped up.” Sam takes a deep breath and jumps into the conversation he doesn't want to have. “Listen Dean, what did we talk about last night?”

Dean is quiet for too long on the other end and Sam cringes, about to say it doesn't matter, and hang up, but Dean speaks, “Olle mostly, your foot, and how you like to be manhandled,” Dean laughs. 

“So I did say that?” Sam groans. “I did tell you about Amelia?” Sam knocks his head into the wall three or four times before dropping it forward and putting his phone on speaker so he can drop it in his lap and grab two fist-fulls of hair and try not to scream. “What'd I say Dean?”

“Nothing that makes any difference to me, Sam, whatsoever. You know that, right? You need to know that Sammy. You're my brother; you're the most important thing in the world to me and that will never change, not ever, you got me?” 

Dean is so serious and Sam wants to believe him, so he decides to take a chance.

“I know Dean, I do, and, if you mean it, can I tell you? Now,” he laughs, “so we don't ever have to talk about it again and I don't have to look at you while I do it?”

“I'm all ears Sammy.” 

Sam hears the Impala rumble to life and he says, “Put me on speaker Dean so you can focus on the road. It's okay if Cas hears this.”

“Hello Sam,” Cas says in his usual solemn tone, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah Cas, hey,” he smiles despite himself, “I'm fine. I just have a story to tell and I only want to do it once.”

“Okay Sam, we're always here for you,” the angel says.

Sam smiles and takes a deep breath before he begins, “When Dad, when I left for Stanford, I thought I didn't have anyone. I had a duffel bag with a few clothes and about $150. I managed to hustle my way through every shit bar between where we were and Palo Alto, so I had money for everything from my laptop to sheets. I was exhausted by the time I got there. I met Brady, we were assigned suite mates Freshman year, and we became really good friends.”

“Sam,” Dean says, “you don't have to talk about Brady if...”

Sam cuts him off, “Dean, just let me get through it.” He sits up more in the bed, takes one of his pillows from under his foot and puts it in his lap to lay his phone on, then continues, “I was used to spending all my time living in someone's pocket, so it was easy, and Brady and I became good friends quickly. When he asked me out in January I was shocked, but I was more shocked that I wanted to do it. We dated for the rest of the school year but it never really went anywhere too serious and, when he left for the summer, I got a job and I even went out with a couple girls. When Sophomore year started, I had already moved into the apartment but we started dating again, more seriously. When he came back to school after Christmas, of course, things were different; we didn't break up, though, until March and, in May, since we were all staying in Palo Alto for the summer, he introduced me to Jesse.” Sam stops here thinking about Brady, his Brady, the real Brady. He wonders, briefly, but not for the first time, if Brady had forgiven him for everything; for killing him. He wasn't sure he had forgiven himself; even all these years later.

“Sam,” Cas says, “I'm so very sorry about your friend.”

“Yeah Sammy, man, Jesus! If you'd told me back then, when we found him...I woulda done things differently. I would have, I don't know; maybe not, but I wish I'd known.” 

“Dean,” Sam laughs a genuine laugh, “you still wouldn't know if I were better drug addict.”

“Always were a lightweight, little brother.” Dean laughed through the phone.

“Yeah Dean,” Sam laughs too. “I want you to know, I never kept anything from you after the fire.”

“I hate thinking you missed out on anything, Sammy, because you were afraid to tell me,” Dean says seriously.

“No Dean, I thought it was just a thing; just something that happens sometimes, a phase I guess.”

“And Amelia?” Dean asks.

“Riot, his name was Riot.” Sam is quiet now; serious and sad. “Everything I told you was the truth, was what happened, how it really happened; everything except his name. The dog's name was Amelia.”

“You were happy, Sam,” Dean says seriously. “You were out, weren't you? And even if you didn't stay with him, to you, coming back to me meant hiding again. Why did you? Why did you think you couldn't tell me?”

Sam huffed a laugh, “There's not a lot of 'out' in east Texas Dean. But I've seen the way you act around men who are attracted to you, around men who are obviously gay, and I couldn't help but think you'd be just as uncomfortable and awkward around me if you found out. How was I supposed to be okay with telling you your little brother likes it up the ass when you still make gay jokes? You were so uncomfortable in Michigan last year you bitched out a high school girl over subtext!”

“Incest, Sam, incest bothers me; that's why I bitched out a high school girl!” Dean sounds almost contrite and Sam smiles. “As for the other thing,” Dean says, false bravado dripping from every word, “I'm just not used to turning people down. I feel bad for them.”

Sam laughs but Cas cuts through, “Dean, that's not why you do it. Doesn't Sam know what you've done for him in the past?”

Sam gets an ominous, sinking feeling in his stomach when Dean immediately mumbles, “Shut the fuck up Cas!”

“Well Sammy, we'll see you when we get home,” Dean says fast and way too happy sounding. “Gotta go, bye!”

He is ready to hang up but Sam says, quickly, “Dean!”

“What Sam?” he sounds determined.

“I'm 36 years old and I need to tell you, I need to say it, Dean. I'm bisexual.” There is a long pause and a deep breath before he goes on, “I'm telling you this because I'm pretty sure I'm attracted to Olle.” Sam decides to use a dramatic statement to shift focus until Dean calms down and he can shift the topic back to whatever Cas was talking about.

“Olle, Olle?” Dean asks. “Olle who eye fucks me every time he thinks I'm not looking?”

“I'm pretty sure he doesn't care if you're looking Dean; you shouldda seen how he looked at me yesterday, when I was walking back to my room after a shower.” Sam chuckles, but he sees his towel, still wadded up in the floor by the door and he stops.

“Just don't do anything about it Sam, not until we're really, really sure we can trust him.” Dean says. 

“Yeah Dean, of course,” Sam says.

“Good.” Dean is quiet for a few seconds then says, “Look Sam, we're coming into traffic so I'm gonna go. We'll be home in the tomorrow. Bye Sam.”

He hung up so fast he missed Sam's, “Bye Dean.” 

Cas' words are still ringing in Sam's head, though.


	17. Chapter 17

It's almost noon, Sam realizes, when his phone screen returns to normal. Instead of getting up in search of lunch, which wouldn't be a bad idea according to his stomach, he hobbles to the sink for some water and takes the oxy he put on his nightstand before crawling into bed and going to sleep; listening to the soft rock channel on the TV.

**

Olle watches Sam head out of the kitchen and he hopes the kid is okay. He runs through everything he has admitted to in the last twenty-four hours and worries he may be coming clean a little too fast for the younger Winchester to process. Dean called him last night and gave him an ear-full after he found out Sam was hurt. Apparently, Dean didn't care so much that Olle lied, especially after he assured him he didn't know anything more than they did about how to stop the Darkness, but Sammy's injury was not to be tolerated. 

Olle thinks, briefly, as he finishes his sixth cup of coffee, the last of the pot, about trying to sleep. Despite considering it, he had yet to fill his PTSD prescriptions, and, although he was sleeping better for a while, Sam talking about his brothers, his family, put a stop to that. He had probably had less than eight hours of sleep, total, in the past three weeks. He was jogging and lifting weight and doing hours of yoga to try to exhaust himself; while it was working, sleeping, even meditation, brought on disturbing memories and dreams that made him wake either in tears or so completely out of sorts he felt like he couldn't move. 

It almost feels like it had when he first came back to himself. Those two weeks he was in a coma, coming back from Africa, he had been forced to relive his entire existence in ultra-high definition. The worst part was, he was forced to relive his death, her death (her entire life), twice; once when he was forced to remember and then, in excruciating detail, as he tried to pull all those pieces of himself out and force them into Beth. 

At half-ten, Olle decides to give up the idea of sleep, it will just put him in a worse mood if he tries, and heads to the library and their continued search of all things related, or potentially related, to the Darkness. By two o'clock, Olle has gone through a sizable stack of information, none of it useful, and decides to go make himself a sandwich. When he is finished with his lunch, Olle sees Sam's antibiotic on the table and figures the kid should be hungry by now. 

**

At a quarter til three, Olle comes in with Sam's next antibiotic, a sandwich, chips, and soda. Sam sits up, groggy, and eats while Olle sits in his desk chair by the bed and goes through the Netflix que. 

“You should really expand your horizons Winchester,” Olle says throwing the remote back on the bed.

“What does that mean?” Sam asks.

“Just that your suggestions are all documentaries.” He picks the remote up again and switches to Dean's profile. “This,” he says after a minute, “is a little better, I guess. You're brother loves slapstick doesn't he.” Sam chuckles around a bite of food while Olle shifts to Cas' profile. 

Olle is quiet for a few minutes then Sam looks up at the screen when he hears Olle start to laugh and sees Cas has been watching Columbo. “Do you think it's because of the coat?” Olle laughs.

Sam can't help himself, he starts to laugh great big guffaws and flops back on the bed still laughing. After a few minutes, he sits up to see Olle has gone back to hia que.

“Have you seen these?” Olle has chosen 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' series.

“I saw the ones with Daniel Craig,” Sam says.

“These are much, much better. Do you mind?” Olle asks. “The subtitles are terrible but I can turn them off if you understand the dialogue.”

Sam says, “Leave them on, if you don't mind?”

“Yeah, that's fine,” Olle says reaching for the bottle of Coke he'd been drinking. He turns his chair around to lean on the back before picking his drink up. 

Sam leans back on the headboard of the bed and wants to tell Olle he can sit on the bed with him, but he's nervous. He told Dean he was attracted to him, and that's true, but he also promised he wouldn't do anything about it until they had a better idea of who Olle really was. Sam was pretty sure that was Dean-speak for, 'Wait 'til I'm there in case he hurts you.' Sam was positive, though, Olle could be trusted, but he promised Dean. Besides, he thought to himself, Olle was eye fucking Dean every chance he got. He probably wasn't even interested in him. Sam had to admit, the guys Dean usually turned down never seemed to look at him. 

They watched the first of six episodes and Olle stood up, stretching; Sam can't take his eyes off that little bit of skin that flashes between his jeans and the bottom of his t-shirt. 

“It's five o'clock,” Olle says. “You should get up and move around some. I'm gonna throw some food at Metatron, and think about our own dinner. We can, if your interested, watch the next episode after we eat?”

“That sounds great,” Sam says, face flushed and mouth dry, as he reaches for his crutches. 

Once Olle is on his way out the door, Sam slumps back on the bed, crutches in hand. He sighs, shaking his head in frustration. Sex, or a lack thereof, has never been something that has bothered him in the past and Sam is curious why it is now. Of course, he thinks, he has spent his life surrounded by family, Dean, Bobby, Dad, so he has never, unless he was dating someone, been in such close quarters with anyone who wasn't family. 

Olle has been living here since September; why is he just starting to react to every move the man makes? That is not exactly true, though, he admits to himself. Sam noticed him the first time they met; Olle walked into the bar where Dean plays pool and loves the nachos. He was watching his brother running a smooth hustle of some kids with way too much of their parent's money to spend and Olle had taken Dean for every dime he had earned that night. 

What made Sam really take note was, he had given the kids their money back and told them not to play grown-up games until they could lose their own money. Then he came over, bought them a round, and introduced himself as the guy they had been waiting on; Olle needed help with a nest of vampires. That was in June, while Dean was trying to fix up Baby; after she had been beat to fuck hunting those Ghoul-pires.

They had parted ways after helping each other out but, a few weeks later, they ran into him again, hunting Rowena, trying to find the Book of the Damned, and Olle had been hurt pretty bad. Cas was able to keep Olle alive, but they had brought him back to the bunker to rest up. He didn't officially move in until after they found out about the curse but he had stayed on and off since then. He would come and go; staying just a few hours or a night sometimes.

Sam had to admit to himself, he had been acutely aware of Olle since they met. In the beginning, though, he just thought it was hyper-sensitivity, given he had been with Piper after such a long dry spell and here he was faced with a very attractive stranger. Then it was the constant flirting that could be considered not flirting and the way Olle looked leaned into that guy, Mark, that he danced with when they were in Philly. Now, though, he knew the man as more than a stranger and he thought of him as more than a beautiful body. He just wasn't sure how Olle saw him, or what, if anything, he wanted to do with these thoughts.


	18. Chapter 18

Olle found Sam in the library at around 7:30. “Dinner,” he said seeing Sam, leg swung up on the end of the table, nose buried in a book with half dozen more strewn about. His breath caught at the sight of him relaxed and lost in thought; he had pulled his hair up in a high little knot and was chewing a pen. “What are you researching?” Sam looks up, pen sliding out of his mouth, and closes his book with a smile. Olle is certain he is being punished for something and the list is so long he has no idea what; he worries at how much worse it could get before his reprieve.

“You,” he says with a devastating smile, dimples flashing. “I'm coming.” Sam follows Olle into the kitchen in silence and he worries for that length of time he has upset the man, again.

Once they walk down the steps into the kitchen Olle says, “You'll like it better than last night, I'm sure.”

“Why is that?” Sam asks lowering himself to the table. “It smells delicious, what is it?”

Olle hands Sam a beer then goes back over to the stove to grab their plates. “It's just butternut squash soup and a spinach salad with plums, blue cheese, walnuts and pancetta.” Olle handed Sam a salad as he sat his own down then went back to stove for a small pot of soup and two bowls which he sat between them. “I'm really going to have to stop going to the Farmer's Market or the grocery store,” he said sitting down. “All I want to do is cook; I'm bored.”

“You should be bored more often,” Sam says swallowing the first bite of his salad. “This is terrific. All Dean does is burgers and mac-n-cheese. Endless variety thereof, don't get me wrong, but this is awesome!”

Olle laughs, smiling as he loads his fork, “I still have a lot of food in the fridge. I went a little overboard. They'll be back tomorrow, won't they?”

“Yeah,” Sam says as politely as he can around a mouth full of food.

“How pissed will Dean be if I tell him I want to cook for the next week? And,” he says excited as an idea comes to him, “would making him like seven different types of pie soften the blow?”

“Open with the pie and you'll probably be okay,” Sam laughs.

“I'll do that,” Olle smiles and Sam is just floored until the big man turns back to his food.

They eat in silence until their salads are gone, then Olle serves the soup. “Hang on before you dig in,” he says getting up. He takes their dirty dishes to the sink then goes to the refrigerator and comes back with a little bowl and two more beers. “Not crème fresh but still,” he drizzles a little in the top of each bowl.

The soup, Sam thinks, is better than the salad was. And he is starting to kind of wish this could be considered a date, he is having such a nice time.

“A doctor and you can cook; you're going to make a hell of a husband one day!” Sam blushes when he says it and doesn't make eye contact but when he hears Olle laugh he looks up and smiles.

“You know,” Olle say thoughtfully, “all this time, all of time, I've been around and I've never been married to anyone.”

“Not even to a woman? Have you ever, I mean, have you always looked like this?” Sam asks. “I mean, it's none of my business,” he says quickly. “Are you even attracted to women?”

“Women, occasionally, but they have always been very, very few and far, far between. I am a man; I have always seen myself as a man. I was a warrior and a hunter so I guess I've just always lived the kind of life where it wasn't practical. I never seem to age beyond about forty or so, either, so I moved around a lot. It was never something I wanted. I came close once; I wanted it once, but that was before I was me.”

“She almost got married?” Sam asks curious. He tries to never use her name, it makes Olle looks away, uncomfortable, and he wants to ask if referring to him in the third person, even though she kind of is, is the right way to talk about her.

“I thought I was very much in-love with a man and I wanted us to get married but nothing ever came of it. Then, I was with a man who very, very much wanted to marry me; weather I wanted it or not.”

Sam cringes at that, “Was he dangerous?”

Olle shrugs, “I thought so at the time. He threatened to kill me and himself and anyone who came between us at one point. When I decided to finally, finally end it, I drug it out for months because I was terrified he'd show up at my house. I lived with my parents and he lived three hours away, but I was afraid and I knew he kept a gun on him and in his car at all times. We went to college together and worked together and went out for about a month before I knew it was a bad idea and ended it. He harassed and stalked me for almost 8 years. I can very much appreciate how hard women have it because I remember being one. I was afraid of him and I continued going out with him, continued sleeping with him, because I was afraid; even though he never did anything to hurt me physically. I lived in terror of the idea of getting pregnant, because I knew he'd never go away but I also knew, if that happened, I'd never be able to make him go away.”

“You know,” Sam says seriously as he swallows the last bite of his soup, “I can't imagine not being able to defend myself. Even when I was a kid, even when I was smaller than everyone else, I felt confident and strong. I knew I was well trained and I knew I could, at least, protect myself long enough to get away or...” he trails off.

Olle smiles, “Or long enough for Dean to save you,” he finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Sam grins shyly. 

Olle grins back, “He's your brother, he's supposed to save you. Trust me, as an older sibling, well feel like that's our job.”


	19. Chapter 19

Olle starts a pot of coffee, then goes over to pull something Sam hadn't realized was still baking out of the oven. 

The smell of bread and fruit fills the kitchen and Sam's mouth starts to water. “What,” he asks timidly, “is that?” He knows he sounds like he thinks Olle will take it away from him if he is too eager, but he can't help it; it smells delicious.

“It's pear dumplings and,” he says going to the freezer, “I have vanilla ice cream.” 

Sam looks at his bowl while Olle goes to pour coffee; it looks like a whole pear wrapped in pastry and baked with 2 scoops of vanilla ice cream melting around it. 

He knows it is a ludicrous thought that speaks to his own attraction but, in this moment, he thinks what a shame it is Dean is so unwaveringly heterosexual; this dessert would ensure Olle was well and truly fucked by his brother if Dean were even the slightest bit interested. Seriously, it is basically pie; Dean would be gagging for it.

“Be careful when you cut into it,” Olle says dropping into his chair and handing Sam coffee. “The core of the pear is stuffed with caramels so there is sauce when you open it.”

Sam laughs a bit hysterically despite his best efforts, because caramel sauce just seems like it would seal the deal for Dean. “Yeah,” Sam says after he calms himself down. He cuts into the dessert and nearly groans at the puff of steam and flood of caramel into his bowl. When he carefully loads his fork with a bit of everything, he does groan at that first taste. “This is fucking amazing!” he exclaims, mouth full.

Olle is blushing, “I'm glad you like it.” 

“I hate to be a hipster, but cut into yours and let me take a picture so I can torture Dean.” Sam laughs, “He'd admit to watching Disney movies for one of these." Olle chuckles and lets Sam send his brother a picture. 

Dean responds quickly enough to Sam's image of, “Baked pear dumplings with caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream; IN OUR KITCHEN!”

“Very funny Sam,” Dean's text reads, “where are you? I thought you couldn't walk.”

Sam chuckles when he reads the message and responds, “Olle man, I told you we were in the bunker, he's a fucking chef, man; a doctor AND a chef. He said he'd make you pie if you let him cook! Lots and lots of pie Dean.”

Instead of a reply, Cas shows up before Sam can take another bite. “Hello Sam,” he said as monotone as ever. “Hello Olle. I've been instructed to take your dessert, Sam, and bring it back to Dean because, according to him, 'you're being juvenile' by taunting him with promises of pie and images of food he can't eat.”

Sam laughs, “You've got to be kidding me!” He grabs his bowl and pulls it away from where Cas is standing at the edge of the table; like the angel might steal it.

“It is ridiculous, I know,” Cas says wearily, “but I've been told not to come back without it.”

“Here Cas,” Olle says handing him his bowl, “Dean can have mine.”

“But Olle,” Sam says, “you haven't even had the first bite out of it yet!” Sam doesn't want him to give up his dessert and he feels like an idiot for starting this whole thing by sending that text.

Olle cuts himself a bite of the dessert, stabs it with is fork and smears it in the caramel and melted ice cream before putting it in his mouth. He hums to himself as he pulls the fork out clean and Sam wants to hit his brother in the face. Olle just hands Cas his bowl and says, “Don't lose the bowl, they only have so many.” Then Cas is gone.

“You didn't have to do that,” Sam says seriously, angrily, though more at himself than Olle and more at Dean than himself. “I'd've given him half of mine and he would have had to be satisfied with it because it'd be all Cas would have had.”

“I don't mind,” Olle shrugs. “I'm not much for sweets and you really like. I'd rather watch you eat all of yours than keep mine and you lose any of yours.” Truth be told, it was a bit sweet, but it was amazing and Olle would have eaten it; watching Sam eat, however, was so much better than any dessert he could think of.

“Here,” Sam says putting his bowl in the center of the table between them, “we can share it. I insist,” he says when it looks like Olle will refuse.

“Okay, but just one bite then I'm going to get everything ready to clean your foot and put ointment on it.” Olle takes Sam's bowl and gets one more bite of everything before he slides it back across the table, takes a drink of his coffee, and stands up. 

Sam eats while Olle cleans the kitchen, even washing the dishes, then gets everything together he needs to change Sam's dressing. “I'm ready when you are,” Olle says as Sam finishes the last of his coffee staring longingly at his empty bowl.

“Where do you want me?” Sam asks.

Images of all the places Olle wants Sam, not just in the Bunker but at his house, flash through his mind and he has to suppress a groan. “Here is fine,” he says instead and Sam slides back against the wall propping his foot up on the stool he had been sitting on. 

Olle drops down to sit in the floor and unwraps Sam's foot to check the wound. “It looks really good Sam.” He checks the bandage for drainage, probes gently with his clean fingers to check for heat or inflammation, and has Sam go through the gamut of movements from last night. When he is finished, he washes the area and applies a layer of the Bactroban before covering it in clean bandages. “All done,” he says standing up and starting to clean up the table. “Here,” Olle says coming back to the table with Sam's antibiotic, “it's about ten til; just go ahead and take it.”

Sam takes the pill with the glass of water Olle hands him before he says, “Did you want to finish that movie? I'm really interested; I'm going to have to read the books.”

“I have them on my tablet but they aren't in English; can you read Swedish?”

“No,” Sam says getting up, “not well enough to really understand them. Let's go,” he says starting for the door. 

Olle catches up to him in the war room carrying the last six microbrews they were drinking with dinner and a bag of Reese's Pieces. “I needed snacks,” he and Sam laugh as they make there way back to his room.

Sam ducks into the bathroom, after telling Olle to go ahead and get everything set up. Once he's alone, he slumps down on a bench by the showers and takes a deep breath. He wishes Charlie were still alive so he could call her for advice he can't ask from Dean; then he is devastated because he actually thought, 'I'll call Charlie,' before remembering she was gone. He sighs in loneliness and frustration before using the toilet, washing his hands, and making his way to his room. 

When Sam comes through the door to his room, Olle is straddle his chair by the bed, beer in hand, barefooted in a pair of black and gray flannel sleep pants and a gray t-shirt. The rest of the beer is sitting on Sam's nightstand with the Reese's Pieces. The TV is already qued to the second part of the movie, and the remote laying on the bed. Which, Sam notes, Olle has straightened up and added more pillows to; so Sam can lean against the headboard and still prop his foot up. 

Sam comes over and drops on the bed leaning the crutches against the wall between the bed and the nightstand. “Thanks for the pillows,” he says situating himself into a comfortable position.

“You needed them,” Olle says taking a drink of his beer. “Don't worry about it.”

“Hey,” Sam says blushing slightly and not making eye contact, “if you'd be more comfortable on the bed, that's fine.” He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a beer, twisting the cap off and flipping it into the garbage can by the desk. 

Olle shrugs, “If you're sure.” Sam nods and Olle stands up; he swings the chair back under the desk, sets his beer on the nightstand, flips the lamp on, goes over and turns off the overhead light, then comes over to the bed. Sam takes a deep breath and watches as Olle drops his left knee on the edge of the bed, swings his right leg across Sam's thighs and rolls so he lands on his back on the bed with barely a bounce. He sits up, stealing one of the pillows under Sam's foot, so he can lean against the headboard and says, “Hand me my beer Sam, and I'll start the movie.”

Sam just nods and does as asked. When he turns back to Olle, their fingers brush against the sweaty bottle and neither man moves for a few seconds until the noise of the movie starting jars them both into motion; Sam pulls away and they both turn to the TV. 

When the movie ends an hour and a half later, both men are half through their second beer and, between them, the empty candy bag is crumpled near the foot of the bed. “Do you want to keep going?” Sam asks eager to watch the next installment.

“Sure,” Olle says shifting his position until he's sitting cross legged near the middle of the bed with the pillow in his lap. 

Sam pushed the button to start the next episode then shifts around until he is on his stomach at the foot of the bed with his knees bent, feet resting against the wall above the headboard; he piles pillows under his chest to prop himself up and marvels at not spilling his beer by taking a long drink.


	20. Chapter 20

Twenty minutes later, Sam is miserably hard in his jeans watching Lisbeth and Mirium have sex on the floor with Olle pressed up beside him in the too small bed. He is trying determinedly to focus on the movie and not move but Olle shifts beside him rubbing their sides together from waist to knee and Sam presses his face into his pillows to stifle a groan. He reaches down into the floor at the foot of the bed for his beer but it is empty so he grabs the remote and pauses the movie. “I need to move around for a minute,” he says sitting up on the side of the bed, back to Olle.

“Sure,” Olle says sliding off the other side of the bed. He grabs their empty bottles and the Reese's bag before coming around the bed. “I'm just gonna take a bathroom break then and take these to the recycle bin,” he says grabbing the other two empty bottles and heading for the door.

Sam flops back across the width of the bed and groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his unruly cock before he sits back up and grabs his crutches. Getting up, he goes across the room to grab some sleep pants and a shirt from a drawer then comes back to the bed to change. He drops the clothes on the bed then tugs his shirt off and throws it in the laundry basket before carefully sliding out of his jeans. 

Sam stands to pull his pants on as Olle walks back in. There is no mistake, back lit by the lamp as he is, that he is still more than half hard; standing there with his pants around his thighs. For a moment, neither man moves. 

After what seems like a lifetime, Olle walks over to stand in front of Sam before saying, “Let me help.” He takes Sam's arms and braces them on his shoulders before moving the crutches back against the wall then he reaches down and slowly pulls the sleep pants up. His hands flex on Sam's waist, thumbs rubbing unconscious circles in the dip of his hips, before they smooth up his sides, across his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms to help Sam lower himself back onto the bed. 

When Olle finally lets go of his arms, Sam feels like his skin is on fire everywhere Olle touched him, but he has no idea what he wants to happen next so he just says, “Thanks.” He breaks eye contact then and, as he looks down, he notices, not only is he about eye level with Olle's crotch, but he isn't the only one who is hard.

Sam's hands are gripping the edge of the mattress like a lifeline and he looks back up at Olle, who hasn't moved. “What are we doing?” he asks seriously.

Olle takes a step back and leans against the desk, “I don't know Sam.” He rubs his hands over his face, tilts his head back to look at the ceiling, and says, “You're beautiful, you know that right? And I've been more honest with you over the last month than I probably ever have been with another person.”

“It's nice,” Sam smiles saying, “to get to know someone when you can tell them the truth.”

“I don't know, though,” Olle says looking him in the eye, “if this is a good idea. I'm keeping a lot of things from you right now and when you find out I kept these secrets you may not want to have anything to do with me and, if we do this, you will definitely feel betrayed.”

“What,” Sam said, “if I said I didn't care? Now, here, that it didn't matter what I or you thought we were going to feel at some undisclosed time?” 

“What if I told you I could tell you, now, what I was keeping from you if you swore on his soul not to tell your brother and then, if you could live with that, I'd agree with you?” Olle asked seriously.

Sam stopped and thought, he had kept things from Dean before, but he knew Olle was just trying to make a point. “You don't want to do this, do you?”

Olle comes over to Sam and drops to his knees in the floor between Sam's spread legs, running his hands up Sam's thighs to rest on his waist. “Sam, I feel like I can tell you the truth about whatever you ask and you'll not only understand, you'll accept.” He runs his left hand up Sam's bare chest to cup his face, trace his jaw with his thumb, and tangle in the lose pieces of hair at the nape of his neck. “I want this, I want you, but I don't want to do this if it means we eventually part on bad terms, because I'll live forever remembering every detail of what happened.” Olle leans forward then and kisses him; it was a small kiss, chaste and gentle like you saw in a family movie when the Mom and Dad said, 'Goodbye,' in the mornings at the front door. Olle pulls back and hands Sam his shirt before standing up, “Here, finish getting dressed and we can turn the movie back on.”

“This isn't over,” Sam says pulling his shirt over his head. He piles all the pillows back against the headboard to get comfortable while Olle walks around the bed and settles in beside him. Sam hits play on the remote but not before he reaches over and tangles his left hand up with Olle's right between them on the bed. 

“I didn't think it was,” the doctor offers Sam's hand a gentle squeeze.

**

Sam finished the last two beers and all of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest with his hand still tangled with Olle's. When the TV prompts him to start The Girl Who Played With Fire, Sam turns it off and looks over at Olle, “How about we just get some sleep and watch the last two episodes tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Olle says with a yawn as he lets go of Sam's hand to stretch like a cat before shaking out his limbs and starting to set up.

“You don't have to go,” Sam says quickly reaching out for Olle's hand again. 

Olle takes Sam's hand and brings it up his lips before saying, “I don't think that's such a good idea Sam.”

“Please?” Sam asks quietly. “It would be so nice to just feel you here with me in the dark.”


	21. Chapter 21

Against his better judgment, Olle nods his head and lifts his legs to tuck them under the covers that were folded half-way down the bed. Sam turns the bedside lamp off before getting under the covers himself and the two men lay there on their backs in the dark for a few minutes before Sam asks, “Big spoon or little spoon?”

Olle laughs, “No one has ever asked me that before, ever! Never!” He rolls to look at Sam in the dark, he can barely make out his shape with the only light a small red emergency light marking the door. “Do you have a preference?”

“I do,” Sam says rolling over and pushing Olle over on his back then pulling him into his chest thereby forcing Olle to roll and press his back against Sam. Sam slots them together perfectly until they are sharing a pillow; his left arm against Olle's under the pillow, Sam's nose buried in Olle's neck, and his hand draped across his waist. “There, this okay?” Sam asks trying to carefully tangle their legs without injuring his foot.

Olle says, “Uh-huh,” through a yawn as he leans some of his weight back into Sam and drapes his arm around the one Sam has on his waist.

Both men are asleep in minutes and neither wake until Olle's alarms goes off at 6:30.

**

Sam wakes to the quiet beep of an alarm. He notices he is on his back with Olle draped over him; head on his chest, arm around his waist, legs intertwined. He reaches for the only light in the room and realizes it's Olle's phone; he turns the alarm off and puts the phone back on the nightstand.

“It's time to feed the prisoner,” Olle says sleepily from his spot on Sam's chest.

“Can't it wait?” Sam asks. “It's comfortable and warm here,” he says wrapping his arms around Olle. 

Olle tilts his head so he can look at Sam even thought it is still completely dark. “Turn the light on so I can see you,” he says. Sam reaches to do as he was asked, that sleep roughened voice dark and husky; he wants to see him the next time he hears it. They both flinch when the light comes on but Olle moves quickly to brace himself on his hands so he's looking down at Sam. “Good morning,” he says with a slow smile. 

“Hello,” Sam's own dusky voice replies. He looks up at Olle and notices his hair spiked up in a dozen different directions; he can't get over how sexy he is disheveled from sleep with messy bedhead and a lopsided grin. “You're so sexy,” Sam says reaching up with his right hand to touch Olle's face and run a hand through his already messy hair. 

Olle smiles and leans down to take Sam's mouth with his own. The kiss is much as it was last night; open mouth, no tongue; but it lasts longer than the previous one and, when Olle pulls away, they both know it is reluctantly. “So are you,” he says rolling over and off his side of the bed. “You can shower later today, if you're careful, and change the bandage on your foot.” Olle stands up and stretches before continuing, “I'm gonna go make coffee.” He walks around the bed to grab his phone and the two empty bottles before he opens the door and moves out into the corridor. 

Sam stretches, tensing every muscle in his body then relaxing them all at once. He curls up around himself then to get a nice complete stretch of his spine before he sits up on the edge of the bed and reaches for his crutches. He stuffs his phone in his pocket before he heads for the bathroom. 

Coming down the hallway, he stops outside Metatron's room. He checks the lock on the door, the angel proofing sigils carved faintly into the frame, and the salt line before he opens the tiny window to check on him. Metatron doesn't say a word but he offers Sam a choice finger from his seat on the floor by his cot. Sam shuts the window and hears, “What about breakfast asshat?” He chuckles to himself at the man's audacity then heads for the kitchen and the coffee Olle mentioned.

Sam comes into the kitchen and Olle has a lot of stuff, he notices, sitting out on the prep-table. “What's all this?” he asks grabbing a coffee mug and going over to pour himself a cup.

“Inventory mostly,” Olle says going over to the cabinet and pulling out a small box, “and breakfast.” He comes over to the table, where Sam is standing, hands him the box and asks, “Can you take one of these to Metatron?”

“Un-frosted, off brand, strawberry Pop Tarts,” Sam says with a wrinkle of his nose.

“Every time I take him food, he likes to point out all the times the King James version of the Bible likes to say homosexuals are going to Hell.” Olle shakes his head, “He saw my tattoo, and he's goading me. Cas says he likes food so I'm going to start feeding him the same thing everyday. If he keeps doing it, I'm going to start feeding him Polish food. If borscht, blood sausage, and pickled salt cod don't teach him not to fuck with me, nothing will.”

“When did he start harassing you?” Sam asks angrily.

“The day you left for Texas; it was after I came back from my jog. I was wearing a sleeveless shirt. He started by pointing out the historical significance of the pink triangle; then went on to laud Hitler's good work in that respect.” Olle sounds bitter and angry. “When I looked in on him last night, he started with the Biblical quotes, then again this morning.” 

“Why,” Sam asks then, “the triangle? Why not a rainbow of some kind?” He sits on the edge of the table and takes a drink of his coffee. 

Olle moves back to the prep-table and starts sorting before he speaks, “I fought long and hard against Hitler and the Nazis. One man, though, even with an eternity of training and magick, even working with the Men of Letters, when not only the Thoul and the Stynes but demons and Crossroad deals and dark magick are against you...it's a wonder they were stopped at all. A lot worse than death happened to me in one of those camps and the triangle is important, should be important to all gay and bisexual men; the need to remember what happens when you don't fight back against oppression and prejudice.”

“Oh my god!” Sam is sorry he asked but, somehow, glad he knows. “Come here,” Sam says sitting his cup down, “please.” Olle stops what he was doing and goes to Sam who wraps him up in his arms tightly before he pulls back and says fiercely, “I'm going to cut the power to his room and he's not eating again, not getting any kind of contact until Dean and I have a talk with him.”

“Are you defending me Winchester?” Olle asks with a smile.

Sam plants a quick kiss on his lips and says, “I'm standing up for both of us,” before he grabs his crutches and heads out to make Metatron's life a little worse.


	22. Chapter 22

When Sam comes back, about fifteen minutes later, most of the stuff on the prep-table had disappeared and Olle was doing several things at once, that seemed to involve every part of the kitchen. Sam refills his coffee cup and perches back on the edge of the table wishing they had bar stools so he could set at the prep-table and watch. 

“What are you doing?” Sam wonders.

“Several different things,” Olle replies turning from the stove to a kitchen aid mixer.

“I can see that,” Sam laughs. “What things?”

“I'm cooking breakfast; arugula salad with bacon, croutons, and poached eggs with balsmaic reduction. I'm making a loaf of whole grain sprouted wheat-berry bread. I have Osso Bucco I want to braise for dinner. Lastly, I'm making pie crust, so I can make your brother a pie, so he won't kill me for a) cooking in his kitchen b) wanting to keep cooking in his kitchen, even though he's here to do it c) hoping he lets me teach him how to make more than just good burgers, mac-n-cheese, and killer scrambled eggs and d) making out with, sleeping in the same bed with and wanting, desperately, to fuck and, or be fucked by his little brother.” Olle turns back to the stove to flip the bacon then turns back to the kitchen aid before saying thoughtfully, “Maybe I should make him more than one pie.”

Sam's whole body heats up when he hears Olle admit to wanting to fuck him, or be fucked by him, but he still can't help but laugh at the man's attempts to bribe Dean with pie. “Maybe a couple of pies, yeah,” Sam says putting his cup down and wishing he could walk so he could just stalk over to the stove and take Olle right there; breakfast and secrets be damned. “Did I just hear to say you wanted me to fuck you?”

“I did save that bit for the end so it wouldn't get lost in the middle,” Olle says pouring what smells like vinegar into a pan of water on the back of the stove. “We should have that conversation before we get too far into this; you're okay with fucking me, right Sam?” Olle wonders turning from the stove to look at him seriously. “No reservations or awkward hesitation?”

Winchesters only ever back down from awkward sex questions asked by each other. Sam answers with a glint in his eye, “None whatsoever.”

“Good,” Olle says turning back around to pull the bacon out of the pan then fold a piece of parchment paper around a pile of flour in the center and pour it into the kitchen aid; once the flour is all in and the speed had been increased, Olle turns back to Sam, “What about letting me fuck you?” he asks with a smirk.

Sam smirks right back, dimples showing through his still unshaven beard, “I usually prefer to top, but I'm certainly not opposed to it.”

Olle nods his head with a smile then turns back to the stove and Sam watches while he finishes breakfast and sets the bread dough to rise on the back of the stove. 

They talk about pie and dinner and when Dean and Cas should be back while they eat, but never venture back to the topic of sex. 

After breakfast, Sam watches Olle make three batches of pie crust before he starts to clean up. “Let me help,” Sam says seriously. “I can stand at the sink and wash dishes at least; I'll get a chair and prop my knee up so I'm not putting weight on my leg.” He needs to do something so he won't sit there watching Olle and wanting him. The wanting, he muses, is so much harder to control when you know it is reciprocated.

“Sure,” Olle says and he goes to the corner and grabs the chair he used when he stitched Sam's foot. He pulls it up next to the sink then grabs a few kitchen towels to pad the seat and goes back to preheat the oven and start to peel apples for pie. 

Sam enjoys doing dishes; he always assumed it was because he never had these type of domestic chores forced on him as a child, and the distraction was welcome. He worked slowly and methodically at cleaning out, then cleaning, the sink before filling it with soapy hot water and starting to wash. As he got caught up with what seemed to be Olle's efforts to dirty everything in the kitchen once, he made a second pot of coffee, took his antibiotic, and started to dry, then put away, the clean dishes. He found he could easily use one crutch while still keeping weight off his foot; which made it easier. 

At around ten, just after Olle put the bread dough in its pan for the second rise, his phone rang. Sam stopped what he was doing to listen, though he never turned from the sink. It couldn't have been the same person from several weeks ago because he translated that conversation, it was Finnish; this sounded like an east Asian language. After a few minutes, Olle hung up the phone and turned to Sam, “I'm going to have to go out this afternoon for an hour or so and pick something up.”

“Who were you talking to?” Sam asks nonchalant.

“That was one of my friends who helped me get you and Dean back into the land of the living. They called to let me know your paperwork has all arrived and I can come pick it up.” Olle turns back to the stove, where he was cooking the filling for apple pie; he is a firm believer it sets up better if you cook it first. 

“Oh,” is all Sam says. Then, “Who were you talking to that night outside Metatron's room?”

“That was Kalle. We knew each other in medical school and the military. He wanted me to come home to Helsinki for Christmas. His husband, step-son, and father; I know them all very well.” Olle goes over to the refrigerator and starts to make room so he can set the apples in there to cool. He pulls the Osso Bucco he mentioned for dinner out also.

“How did you end up that close?” Sam wants to know if they dated but it seems unlikely given what would be a drastic physical age difference.

“My father picked him up one night, soliciting, and brought him home to feed him and let him sleep somewhere warm and safe. When I saw him, I realized he was in my class. I was just starting med-school at the time and Kalle was in his second year. His father had beaten him and kicked him out when he found out Kalle was gay so, to support himself, he started hustling. He joined the military after about a month of my Dad hounding him while he let him stay with us. It was a good idea, and he got to finish medical school. When Dad died and Mom was here teaching, Kalle became my legal guardian. When Mom got sick, I came here and, when she died, and I went back to Finland; Kalle supported my petition to become emancipated and join the marines. When I died, he was my next of kin and when I was found alive he took charge of me. I lived with him and his family while I was still in Finland.” Olle had poured the apples into a dish and put them in the refrigerator while he spoke and he came over to the sink to hand Sam the pot. “We dated for a while before he and Lari decided to get back together and they got married not long after; that was right before I came back to the states.”

“Is that why you came back?” Sam asks.

“No,” Olle laughs. “I came back because I heard the rumor Dean Winchester was bound for Hell and Lilith was stalking the earth.” Olle looks at Sam seriously, “I came back to find you and try to keep you from breaking the final seal.”

“What?” Sam is more than a little flabbergasted.


	23. Chapter 23

Turning from the stove, Olle looks at Sam, “I was never going to be able to stop Dean from breaking the first seal; I knew that the moment I found out Alistair had bought his soul from Crowley.” With a deep breath he pushes on, “I'm the one who drug Alistair into the pit and, loath though I am to admit it, I'm the one who broke him on the rack; Dean was as doomed as Lilith the moment he made that deal.” Olle was quiet when he spoke, afraid of how Sam would react. This was a huge thing to share with him and finding the chance to do it so nonchalantly, somehow, made it easier. 

“How is it possible, if you can't die, that you drug Alistair into the pit?” Sam asked shocked and confused.

“I made a deal with Azazal,” Olle says simply, going back to start his braise.

“You did what!” Sam says angry.

“Me farming souls, working the rack, building him an army; in exchange for two thousand earthly years of that, he would stop rattling the Devil's cage and trying to break it open for a period of four thousand years to start when my term of service began.”

“Why would you do something like that?”

“I needed time, enough time for the blood lines to spread out thin enough that I figured it would take more time than I'd given up for them to come together again.”

“What?”

“The angels told you both, didn't they, who you were?” Olle asked seriously.

“Huh?” Sam is confused now.

“Fuck,” Olle shakes his head is disbelief. “Cain and Abel! You and Dean are direct descendants of Cain and Abel. Your bloodline has circled so far back around it reconnected when your parents had the two of you. You're a direct blood link to Abel and Dean is a direct blood link to Cain. Too many greats to count but they are, were, your grandfathers.” Olle can't believe he has to explain this to him when he should have, at the very least, intuited it from the lore. “Lucifer polluted Lilith to the point of her becoming the first demon so she could entice Abel, her husband, into letting him in. Cain killed Abel to keep Lucifer from bringing the war in Heaven directly to earth. Lucifer gave Cain the Mark to pollute Michael's vessel to the point of being unable to contain him. Lilith died in childbirth and Lucifer spirited her soul away to Hell where she became the first demon.”

“That's,” Sam is nauseous, “I mean, looking back,” he hobbles over to the table and sits on the edge, “Zachariah said something once and Dean said Michael told him something about blood.”

“You boys never did read Chuck's books any more than it mentions you reading through them when you found out about them; did you?” Olle asks exasperated. “The books explain all of this.”

“What?” Sam looks over at him startled. “Why, though, did you make the deal?”

“I intended to find your bloodlines and kill them. Small scale genocide to prevent the Apocalypse; it would have been worth it. Azazal, though, drug me into Hell and left me there to rot to stop me. I made the deal to get my freedom; I made the deal because I figured, if I couldn't find you when I got out, I could find you when the bloodlines started to come back together. Only, Azazal hunted me again from the moment my two thousand year reprieve was over and, after another three thousand years, I died under odd circumstances that left me an infant with no memory of what I was.”

“How does that happen?” Sam has to know.

“You get chased by hellhounds into a blue volcano in Indonesia.” Olle had started browning Osso Bucco while he spoke and now he was starting to cut vegetables.

“What were you doing in Indonesia?” Sam asks.

“Chasing leads, chasing Campbells, and, when Azazal realized how close I was, he got Lilith to get Crowley to send six hounds after me.” Olle pulled the Osso Bucco out of the pan and dumped his cut vegetables in before turning back around, “Active volcano, in the middle of an eruption, it's just like the pit and they play in it like tigers at bath time, but it does unspeakable damage to a human body. Better than a bonfire!” Olle grins.

“My god! The agony you must have been in.” Sam can't imagine the pain, he briefly thinks about John Lynch's character death in Volcano and shudders. Olle shrugs and keeps cooking. 

Sam watches from his seat on the table; he can't imagine the life Olle has lead, the pain and loss and struggle. He amplifies the life he and Dean have lived then adds not knowing who or what you are and the shock of finding out, only to be thrust into the mess he created when he saved Dean and released the Darkness. It probably doesn't even come close, he thinks before he gets up and goes back to the sink.

At just past noon, Olle takes the bread out of the oven and puts an apple crumble pie in before he and Sam eat fish tacos for lunch. As Sam puts the last of the dishes away, he looks around the kitchen; Olle is sliding the tightly covered Osso Bucco into the oven, after adding diced tomatoes and stock but, when the door closed, the kitchen was spotless. 

Sam had been quiet during lunch, lost in thought about lots of things; he couldn't get past Alistair. If Olle could do something like that, make a demon like that, if he could so easily admit to wanting to commit genocide, what else could he have done? What could he be hiding? 

“You've been quiet,” Olle says coming around the prep-table and leaning on the table. “I've thrown a lot of information at you the past couple days and I've not really let you have any time to process. Do you want to talk to me about anything?”

Sam drags his chair over across from Olle, sits, rubs his face with both hands, and finally says, “As much as I can understand everything you are, everything you've seen, I do; but Alistair,” he shakes his head. “If you could do something like that, make something like him; what else have you done? What aren't you telling us?”

“There were thousands on my table in Hell. Alistair, though, could be considered a grand achievement.” Olle sighs and runs his hands over his face, through his hair, before he goes on, “The people I...I tried to make damn sure I was farming hellbound souls. Not that everyone deserved it, just that they knew what they were getting into. Alistair, though, was a holy man. This was almost 6,000 years ago. A High Priest of Ma'at. It was a spell, a terrible spell, that was trying to conjure Ammut; they sacrificed a baby in an attempt to cleanse the soul of a powerful heir to the throne. Alistair tried to stop them and, when the fallen they had summoned arrived, it killed everyone in the room. All fifteen soul were drug into the pit and I was given all of them. Alistair's soul was last; Azazal made him watch what I did to the others, then threw him at my feet.” He is quiet as he speaks, his voice is soft, and Sam knows he is remembering it all. “Azazal thought it would be funny. He wanted to see what I'd do. I'd never turned an innocent soul. I worried I was too late and he was the Righteous Man. But the thought of drawing it out just so he never broke the first seal was,” Olle's voice breaks and he stops for a minute; the idea of breaking down in front of Sam the way he had Lucifer was terrifying. “He didn't make it easy on me, though; it nearly ended me. The thing Azazal spit out of Hell, it wasn't the man he drug down there.” He is crying now and Sam feels shame well up in him for ever believing Olle was evil. “When he rose from the rack a demon, and I realized the depth of what I'd done, what I had to do to make that happen, I was tempted to stay in Hell. Tempted to make myself his ultimate project, make sure I consumed his every moment; so he couldn't do to anyone what I'd taught him.”

Sam reaches out to him and takes his hand, he pulls him toward him. Olle drops down straddle his lap, cups Sam's face and kisses him. Sam feels hot tears fall on his face as Olle devours his mouth and Sam just takes it; giving Olle anything he needs to banish those terrible memories. Sam wraps his arms around Olle and grabs his ass, kneading the firm muscles and pulling the big man closer. Olle buries his hands in Sam's hair, losing the elastic band somewhere in the floor; he rumbles a moan deep in his chest at the softness of Sam's hair in his hands and feel of Sam's hands gripping his ass. Sam smiles into the kiss as he rocks his hips and pushes his tongue into Olle's mouth. They part reluctantly, for much needed air, and both men groan when Sam slides his hands under Olle's shirt, up his back, then rakes his nails slowly back down, dipping under the waistband of his sleep pants and his boxer-briefs to dig into the cheeks of his ass; Olle arches into the touch with a whimper.

“Oh God Sam,” Olle groans nuzzling his beard before going in for a lazy kiss. “We need to stop, right now,” he says grinding his erection into Sam's stomach while Sam thrusts up into his ass; neither man getting enough friction to do more than frustrate.

“Don't want to,” Sam pants, trailing kisses along Olle's jaw while he teases his fingers along the crack of the big man's ass. The smell of fresh bread and apple pie permeate the kitchen and Sam wonders, briefly, as he finds Olle's mouth again, if this is what having a home and a family is like; cooking and cleaning up and great smells and fresh bread and sex in the kitchen when no one else is home. Sam digs his fingers into Olle's ass again pulling him harder against him while he runs his tongue through his mouth. 

Olle groans but pulls himself away and stands, panting, in front of Sam's chair. “I thought we decided to wait?”

Sam reaches out, grabs Olle by the hips, and pulls him closer, to nuzzle his cloth covered cock where it is throbbing and straining in his sleep pants. “You were the one who made that decision, not me,” Sam says as he places open mouthed kissed over Olle's cock, the heat from his mouth and the friction causing Olle to growl as he fists both hands in Sam's hair and lets his his head fall back. Just as Sam is tucking his fingers in the waistband of Olle's pants, though, a loud beeping shrieks through the kitchen and Olle lets go of Sam's hair and backs away, reluctantly, to turn off his alarm and take the apple pie out of the oven.


	24. Chapter 24

When the pie is cooling on the counter, Olle comes back to Sam and drops to his knees in front of the chair. Rubbing his hands up Sam's thighs, to rest on his waist, Olle looks up at him and says, “I want this; I want you,” Sam wraps his hands around Olle's neck to rest, scratching gently in his hair, and Olle smiles before going on, “but I can't, I won't, do this while there are secrets between us. I'm keeping secrets from you, a lot of them, but, when your brother gets back later today, I'll tell you both a lot of them, enough of them that, if you still want me after that, nothing, and I do mean nothing, will stop me from having you.” 

Sam leans down and kisses him gently, before saying, “If you want to wait that's fine, but, after everything you've told me, I don't know what you could be keeping from me that would turn me away now.” 

Olle chuckles, “Wait for it,” he says giving Sam one last lazy kiss before standing. “Right now, though, I need to go meet my friend. I shouldn't be gone more an a couple hours.” 

**

Sam nods as Olle leaves the kitchen. He is apprehensive now, about what Olle is going to tell them. He gets up slowly, using his crutches, and makes his way to his room; finding his phone, he calls Cas and waits for the angel to pick up.

“Hello Sam,” Cas answers after the second ring.

“Hey Cas, just calling to check-in; wondering when you guys were gonna make it home?”

“Hang on Sam, I'll put you on speaker; Dean is driving as we speak.” 

There is a long pause before Sam hears Dean turn down Metalica and say, “Hey ya Sammy.”

“Hey Dean,” Sam laughs, smiling, happy to hear his brother's voice; he misses him, they aren't usually away from each other and, especially since he ran off a demon, with Crowley, Sam has been a little clingy. “Just wondering when you're gonna get back?”

“Ah Sam,” Dean says laughingly disgusted, “you're not fucking on the library tables or something and want to make sure you clean up before I walk in on you; are you?”

“God Dean,” Sam says offended, “No! Besides, why would I bother to clean up, as many times as I've walked in on you?” he asks seriously although he is grinning into his phone.

Dean laughs, “Right Sammy,” he says unconvinced, “you were mortified when I caught you with Piper a couple months ago. Don't pretend you're not still a prude, baby brother, just because I know you're a cock slut.”

Sam laughs at his brother's ability to still be so unwaveringly himself, even about Sam's coming out, but his tone is purely offended when he says, “Really Dean? When are you gonna be here?”

Dean is still chuckling when he answers, “We should be home about four. Give you plenty of time to clean up the mess and get rid of the sex stink little brother.” 

“Later jerk!” Sam says.

“Bitch.” 

“Goodbye Sam.” Cas hangs up the phone.

There is a knock on Sam's door and Olle sticks his head in the room saying, “I'm going. I should be back in a couple hours at most. If your brother gets here before I get back, tell him I know how to peal all his skin off and keep him alive while I do it, if he touches my pie.” Olle chuckles. “You need anything while I'm out? I got a call from the pharmacy and I'm going to get your crutches and those medical supplies, but anything else?”

“Uh,” Sam tilts his head, thinking; Olle is beginning to wonder if they learned it from Cas or Cas learned it from them. “Grab a couple cases of beer and some whiskey. That's all I can think of.”

Olle nods his head then he is gone. Sam looks around his room wondering what to do for the next couple hours until Dean gets home or Olle gets back, whichever comes first. He sits back in the bed, grabs his laptop, and orders The Millennium Trilogy for his e-reader then picks up the search for anything Amara related. 

When Sam realizes he has truly reached a dead end in the hunt for Amara he looks down at his screen; it is almost three thirty and he realizes he needs his antibiotic. He puts the laptop away, grabs his dirty glass and his one crutch, then heads back up the corridor. 

When Sam gets to the kitchen, he takes a deep breath; he can smell the beef now but the apple pie seems to be taunting him from its spot on the prep-table. He ignores it, remembering Olle really could flay him alive, and gets a clean glass before filling it with water and grabbing the antibiotic from the table. He takes the pill, refills his cup, and heads back to his room. 

Sam has been thinking about what Olle could be hiding, about Metatron being a dick, about how Dean is going to react when he finds out everything Sam now knows about Olle, about how Dean is going to be when he is face to face with Sam since he came out, and about what Cas said about Dean when Sam came out. 

Sam has decided, he thinks, that he will just wait on Olle's big reveal before he makes any assumptions. He is absolutely going to kick Metatron's ass and continue to let him rot in the dark; he'll feed him eventually but he thinks Olle was right about Polish food. Dean, he knows, is going to take the news about Olle, especially about Alistair, a lot harder than Sam did; however, he isn't as emotionally invested as Sam (ie. Dean doesn't want to fuck Olle senseless.) so he may have a less volatile reaction. Then again, it is Dean, so maybe Cas will have to clean Olle up before Sam can fuck him. 

What Cas said, though, 'what you did for him' echos through Sam's mind. Sam knows Dean gave up a lot for him as a kid; not just a chance at something better if he stayed at Sonny's. He knows their Dad put too much on Dean at too young an age, and Dean shouldered all of it without question or complaint. He knows John wasn't the best father, and Dean had to fend for himself, for both of them, a lot of the time. When he was a kid he was oblivious, things were just how they always were. As he got older, as John started his training in earnest, as he began hunting with his Dad and his brother, he came face to face with how reckless John Winchester was with is parenting. Trips into New York aside, John would leave them for weeks, sometimes months, at a time and he knew Dean had to resort to hustling pool or cards or even the occasional five-finger discount to make sure they ate or they paid their rent in whatever weekly motel or rat infested shit hole their Dad dumped them in. But where all the money came from, where his clothes and his school supplies, where his first computer came from; Sam never asked. Now he has an uneasy pit in his stomach and he wants to know because he is as certain as the sun their Dad would never have gotten him a laptop or remembered to make sure he had notebooks and shoes that fit. He needs to know what Cas was talking about.

Just then, his phone rings. He picks up when he sees it is Olle calling. “Hey Olle,” Sam says with a smile. 

“Hey Sam,” Olle says. “I'm back and I have your crutches. I'll bring them to you in just a minute.”

“Sure, I'm in my room. I'll see you in a minute.” Sam hangs up the phone and wonders, briefly, where Dean and Cas are. They should be back any minute. 

As if on schedule he gets a text from his brother, “Baby's got a flat, we'll be a while, don't worry.” He shrugs and picks up his water glass.


	25. Chapter 25

Olle is standing in the parking lot of the pharmacy, he just finished loading crutches and medical supplies into the back of his car, his actual car, because Mrs. Tran brought him his car so he would no longer be forced to figure out the physics of cramming everything he just bought into saddlebags on his bike; Dean wouldn't let him drive any of the cars in the Men of Letters bunker (Although a few of them were actually his and he was thankful he would be able to argue that point soon.). Linda had left the file box with all the new identification for Sam and Dean in the front seat, and was watching him while he tried to get Sam's crutches in while still being able to close the doors. “Thank you Linda, for everything you're doing,” Olle says turning to her as he closes the back door.

“It's not been easy,” she says with a smile, “believe me. But,” that determined look she is so famous for is back, “if this gets me my son back, I'll do anything; even harbor the Devil himself.”

“And how are the rest of them? How is Beth?” His main concern is hiding them all, especially Lucifer, from everyone; Sam, Dean, Cas, Crowley, Amara, other angels, other hunters, creatures, and anyone else he can think of that isn't him or Mrs. Tran. He hasn't really talked to Linda about them all, though, and getting her opinion, essentially an outside view, is a good idea he figures he should have thought of months ago. 

“Beth,” she says with a smile, “has been a gift. She keeps the others in check somehow and she takes care of all of us, even me. Balthazar is a bit...” she trails off.

“Too interesting,” Olle says conspiratorially.

“Exactly,” she responds. “But, like I said, Beth wrangles them all and makes it look effortless. Lucifer and Gabriel have both been good for Kevin. He had started to, Sam and Dean warned me it wouldn't end well, and I had begun to worry, but Gabe,” she grins, “Gabe pulled him back. And Luce has been hours of endless conversation; Kevin enjoys helping him learn about people. Thank you for suggesting it.”

“I'm so glad Linda,” Olle says giving her a quick hug. “I promise, soon, I'll do the best I can to fix it. There are just things that have to happen first; if we are all going to die anyway, it does none of us any good for me to keep my promises.” She nods against his side where she still has her arm around him. 

He lets her go and they both hear a rustle and a thud in the trunk before a chipper voice says, “Hey, I got your beer and your booze; man Deano sure can pack it away. What's happened while I was gone?”

“Like you haven't kept track of every move either of them have made,” Olle says with a knowing scowl. The archangel just grins. “Damn Gabel,” Olle says opening the trunk, “was all that necessary?” There are eight cases of beer, good beer Olle notes; Dean probably won't like it, and four of equally high quality whiskey.

“Stocking you up,” he says with a shrug. “We gotta jet, Dean and Cas are gonna roar by in about five minutes.”

“Gabe,” Olle says seriously, “I'm gonna tell them; soon.”

“What,” he asks, seriously, letting go of Mrs. Tran's arm where he had taken it to leave, “is going on you're not telling me?”

Again, he knows Lucifer is keeping Olle's movement from his brother. He needs to talk to the archangel about that. “Tarak, Mica, and Fenrir have been talking to them. Sam figured out, all on his own, who I really am and he's starting to demand answers I can't give him without telling him.” Olle says all this seriously while he goes to sit half-in half-out of the driver's seat of his chocolate colored Jaguar XJ. “They're going to shut me out, kick me out, or, worse, lock me away and stop listening to me. Telling them is easier, safer, than them going off looking for answers on their own.”

“Do you need to me to come talk to him?” Gabriel asks seriously. “I can take Linda home and we can go back together.”

“How is your brother?” Olle needs all of them to be ready, to be okay enough to fight when he brings them out into the open. Lucifer was hesitant the other night, but, maybe if Gabriel is with them, he will be okay. Trying to do it now, Olle reasons, will be better than when Dean is there. “I can get away with telling them a lot that isn't about you and your brothers if he isn't ready. I need you all battle ready and, after the fight you two had, he back slid a lot Gabe.”

The angel sighs and looks at Linda for help, confirmation of what he is about to say. “He is getting better. He has been trying to help since he got out of the cage, you know that. What you did for him,” Gabe sounds genuinely grateful, “really helped. What I did,” the angel looks contrite. “He was doing so well, I didn't think it would be as bad as it was.”

Linda nods and says, “I think he is as ready as he is ever going to be, Olle. He was so broken, and he is still, but sitting this out is eating at him. Fighting with Gabe, brothers do that. He is getting back to himself again.”

Olle nods deciding, “All of you, Linda, Kevin, Beth, and the rest of your brothers can come back tomorrow around two o'clock. That will give me the rest of today and all morning tomorrow to try to build up to it.”

“After what happened in the cage, after what Cas did to Sam, is it even a good idea to bring him?” Gabe asks seriously. “He's more afraid of hurting Sam than of anything else; of making him afraid, of making him question reality again.”

“Take Linda home and bring him back with you now; and is there any way you can stall Dean and Cas for a couple hours? Don't,” Olle says reaching out to Gabe, “don't hurt Baby.”

Gabe scoffed, “Sometimes I think you love that car more than you do me.”

“Have you seen her?” Olle asks seriously. “Of course I do!” 

With a chuckle that isn't all humor, and a snap of his fingers, Gabriel and Linda are gone but, less than a minute later, he is back with the most disheveled looking archangel Olle has ever seen. He still manages to radiate beauty and undeniable power, though. “You need a haircut Luce,” Olle says reaching out to place a hand on the Devil's shoulder, maybe this wasn't such a good idea; he didn't look this bad the other night. “Why are you letting yourself get like this?”

“Hi Olle,” Lucifer says; he sounds like a shy child, his brother must have told him what they were about to do. “It's difficult,” he says with a shrug, “to figure out how this body is supposed to work.” He runs his hands through his hair, though, and it is suddenly shorter; he looked like Mark in Big Lebowski when he arrived and now it was just his normal cut; if a little shaggy and long.

“We're going to see Sam, you up for that?” Olle asks gravely. “Just Sam. No Dean. No Cas. Nobody but you, me, Gabe, and Sam.”

“He needs to know,” Lucifer says with a sigh. “He won't talk to me anymore when I go to him in his sleep. I never could fool him; he always knew what was real and what wasn't, even in the cage.”

“I gotta go stall Deano and Cassie; I'll catch up,” Gabriel says before he is gone.


	26. Chapter 26

Olle and Lucifer ride back to the bunker in near silence. When they are about halfway there, Olle looks over at Lucifer and sighs, “You absolutely didn't want to do this two days ago, are you going to be okay? You can go and I can just let Gabe talk to him.”

Lucifer shakes his head, almost sadly, “I'm tired of being afraid, of reading children's books and trying to figure out if I'm man enough to be an angel again. Putting it off isn't making it easier.” Olle smiles, really proud of him, but then he turns quiet and says, “I just can't hurt him ever, ever again. He is going to be so afraid, too afraid, maybe, to understand right away.”

“We've had this conversation before Luce,” Olle says seriously, “Sammy is strong enough to take it. If you're worried, though, if you want him to feel safe, how would you feel about being locked up?”

“What do you mean?” he asks turning frightened blue eyes on the immortal. 

“When Rowena cursed Cas, with that shitty little curse Crowley hit me with, the boys kept him chained in the library. Everything is still there, you'd be trapped almost as securely as if it were with Holy Fire.” Olle makes the turn to head to the garage while glancing over at the devil as the thinks. 

With a nod, he says, “If you think it will make him feel safe, I can do that.”

“I won't let him hurt you Luce, I promise,” Oll says as they come up the rise, into the garage. 

Gabriel is waiting for them, leaned against a pillar beside the empty space Olle takes. “I blew their tire, popped the spare, and left them in a dead-zone. They're about a half-hour away; it should take them a while,” Gabriel says when Olle gets out. 

He grabs Sam's crutches from the back seat and says to the angels, “Luce, can you get whatever you can carry from the back seat please? Gabe, beer in the fridge and whiskey in the pantry. If you touch my pie, I'll deep fry you in Holy Oil.”

“I can move all of this wherever you need it Olle,” Lucifer says politely.

Gabriel is back with a snap, “Done,” he says. “And I didn't touch your precious pie!” They all start inside when Gabriel says, “The kitchen stinks like sex, by the way. What have you and Sammy been up to while everyone else was gone?” He waggles his eyebrows and grins but Olle just shakes his head because the angel's tone is tight.

“Not that, not yet anyway,” he says, trying to be honest and keep up the lighthearted conversation Gabriel started. Opening the door and starting for the infirmary, he wonders, “Where is he anyway?”

“He's sitting in his room, fiddling with his computer,” Gabriel responds. “So you're telling me our little Sammy really plays for both sides?” Gabriel turns to Lucifer, “Did you know that big brother?”

“Of course,” he says with a nod. “Sam was in love with Brady in college but, of course, I destroyed that and Sam killed him to get to Pestilence.” Lucifer says it all with a voice deliberately firm, but Gabriel looks concerned for his brother. He had only been around a few months, but Olle had seen Dean give Sam that look plenty of times. 

When they get to the infirmary, Lucifer does as promised and everything from the backseat of his car just appears on a gurney. Olle leans the crutches against the wall and starts putting everything away. Gabriel sits on the other gurney swinging his feet while Lucifer helps Olle; he was observant, Olle realizes, when Cas was sick. When Olle was finished, he pulled out his phone; a quarter til four, he called Sam.

“Hey Sam,” Olle says when he picks up. “I'm back and I have your crutches. I'll bring them to you in just a minute.” He hangs up the phone and turns to the angels, “Follow me into the library but can you both wait for me to get him in there and talk to him for a few minutes before you blink into sight; I'll call out to each of you. Gabe, you're first and we'll both lead him up to Luce's appearance.” Olle hands Gabriel a box, “Just drop it on the table,” takes the crutches and starts for the door.

“Olle,” Lucifer wonders as they head down the corridor, “what about what we discussed?”

“I'll do it now if you want, or we can wait and Sam can watch you willing submit,” Olle says, thinking, probably, the last bit would be better. 

“I'll wait,” Lucifer says and Olle nods. 

The three make their way to the war room and Olle gestures to the library with the crutches before he turns and heads toward Sam's room.

**

Olle comes into Sam's room without knocking and give the crutches to Sam. “Here ya go,” he says leaning down, bracing himself on the handle, to kiss Sam slowly. Sam pulls himself up, hand over Olle's on the crutches, to deepen the kiss. Olle pulls away slowly and says, “I need to talk to you, before Dean gets home, and I need you to trust me Sam. Do you trust me?” Olle kisses him again because he wants to, because he is suddenly afraid it may be the last time Sam lets him get anywhere near him.

Sam wraps himself around Olle, letting the bigger man take his weight, and opens his mouth to let Olle inside. The smell of earth after a hard rain and oak moss fill Sam's senses and the taste of dark chocolate and dried fruit, like a good red wine, floods his mouth as Olle's tongue slides in. Sam moans and presses himself harder into the big man while Olle's hands wrap around Sam's waist to cup his ass. When Olle pulls back but doesn't let go, Sam looks him in the eye and sees the uncertainty there. “You're afraid,” Sam says. “Of what?”

Olle leans his head down on Sam's shoulder and says, “Of never getting to do this again.” He looks up and meets Sam's eyes, “This is,” he shake s his head, “What I'm about to do will hurt you. But, I have to do it before your brother shows up and starts to kill things. I want him to be with you at the same time, though, because I don't want you to feel alone.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam says with a reassuring smile, taking hold of Olle's face and kissing him, hard and quick, “I'm a big boy. I can take it.” He lets go of Olle and takes the crutches, heading toward the door, “Let's just get this over with; where to?”

“The library,” Olle says following him.

Sam sits down in the library and props his foot up on the table while Olle grabs the whiskey and four glasses. Sam makes a curious face at the number of glasses and the fact Olle just poured three fingers of amber in each. He looks at the glass but doesn't drink, noticing Olle empties his and refills it. “Olle, come on man, you're making me nervous,” Sam chuckles.

Olle takes a deep breath, grabs the box Gabriel left for him, and starts, “I had kept myself abreast of you and Dean and everything that was happening, even while I was busy trying not to care. Everything that happened with the Leviathan, that is a story I can tell later, because it's long and so not the point right now. Anyway, I knew about Kevin and Crowley and Abadon and I worried about the Mark but I'd fought it, Cain fought it, even while in possession of the blade, so I was over confident. I didn't count on Metatron being as much of a pain in the ass as he's turned out to be.”

“You?” Sam is confused, “You fought the Mark?”

“I told you, Sammy, later,” Olle says while flipping the box open to pull out a large folder with Sam's name on it. He gives the folder to Sam before saying, “This is all your new I.D. It has a birth certificate, driver's license, several state and local badges as well as all the Federal ones you boys use. The state ones are only Kansas, South Dakota, Michigan, and Missouri for now; we're working on the rest. We stuck to alias' you guys use but haven't rung any bells, but there are FBI badges with your actual names on them and a folder in there confirming you both as academy graduates with extensive military experience.” Olle lets Sam open the folder and dump it on the table. 

Sam goes through the folder methodically before packing everything away again; he notices he has a middle name now, Henry. “What else is in the box?” he asks. 

“Dean's folder of the same,” Olle says pulling it out. “There are other things, blank letters of reference and recommendation, college and university diplomas for both of you for several different degrees, and,” Olle rummages through the box, “I think that's it.” Olle slides him the box and lets Sam rummage on his own for a minute before he speaks again, “Linda Tran brought it to me today.”

Sam looks up, “Kevin's mother? How do you know Mrs. Tran?”

“I introduced myself to her, and to Kevin, and they helped me find out where you were. I was hunting the book.” Olle shakes his head, “I just wasn't fast enough.” He laughs, “Crowley and that fucking persimmon; the things he'll do to get what he wants.”


	27. Chapter 27

Olle gets up, emptying his glass and refilling it, again, while he speaks, “I was asleep when the Darkness was released but we felt it tear through Creation. I'm not sure I'd felt pain like that since The Big Bang. Hours later, I heard a knock on the window of my car and Beth and I jerked to ourselves again.” Olle moves to the end of the table opposite Sam and says, “He was there,” gesturing to the spot directly beside him where Gabriel suddenly appears and reached forward to pick up his glass.

“Hey ya Sammy,” the archangel says with a grin, draining his glass; it is full again with a thought.

Sam doesn't know what to do. He isn't sure he can move and he knows he can't speak. He takes a few deep breaths then empties his glass and, coughing, finally speaks, “Gabriel? You're alive?”

“Lightening speed as always kiddo,” the Trickster angel says, flopping down in Olle's empty chair. “We need to talk Sam,” the angel says seriously. 

Olle leans over from his perch on the table opposite Sam and Gabriel to refill Sam's glass before he says, “I need you to listen to him, Sam, and believe him.”

Sam takes a small gulp from his glass and nods before turning to Gabriel who begins to speak.

“You prayed Sam, in that Chapel, and I don't know if Dad heard you, but I did. Balthazar did. And we weren't the only ones.”

“But Balthazar, Cas killed him; didn't he? And Lucifer killed you, Olle burned your body Gabe, you were gone.” Sam says.

“Like I said, Dad,” is all Gabriel says emptying his glass and refilling it. “But you and Dean are both still claimed and warded by Cas, so finding someone who could get to you was important. Finding Olle was important. Two birds, one stone's what that was.” He looks over to where Olle has moved and the two share a nod, Sam notices.

“Who else is here?” Sam asks. “Balthazar?”

Olle shakes his head, pulls a chair up to sit next to Sam, reaches out to put his hand on Sam's thigh, and says, “Balthazar isn't here; he and Beth are with Linda; where the four of them have been since the day after the darkness was released.”

“So who is here?” Sam asks. “Who is it? Who are you?” Sam is looking over to where Olle is starting to move.

Olle pulls his chair over to the chain in the floor where they had Cas secured while he was under Rowena's spell and he picks up the chains, “We talked about it, Gabe, on the ride here, while you were gone. He said he's okay with it if it makes Sam feel safe.” 

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Sam asks, but he knows, Olle can see it, because he is backing away from the chains and Olle. He backs himself into the corner by the low bookshelf, behind the leather chairs there, and he shakes his head, “No!” Olle notices his foot is bleeding and knows it must hurt, but Sam doesn't seem to care; he is crying, silently, and it makes Olle ache.

“I'm sorry Sam,” Lucifer says appearing in the chair. He is quiet, the whole room is as still and silent as Death, while Olle shackles him to the floor at hands, feet, and neck. When he is secure, the angel speaks again, “I heard your prayer, your call to my Father, and I wanted to help you; I've been wanting to help you.”

“You were the one giving me visions!” Sam has recovered himself a little and he charges at Lucifer; no weapon, foot bleeding. Olle makes to stop him but Gabriel grabs his arm and shakes his head. “What were you trying to do to me? The Alphas want me to let you, how are you even here? Why do you look like, like him?” Sam doesn't strike out at him,but, the hunter notices, Lucifer seems to cower slightly all the same.

“When the Darkness was released, it tore through Creation, not just here but in Hell and, I'm sure, in Heaven as well.” Lucifer is quiet and calm and, Olle notices appreciatively, making eye contact with Sam. “The Cage was damaged, not destroyed, but I was able to free myself and, in the confusion, I don't believe anyone has noticed there is nothing left alive in there anymore.” Lucifer takes a deep breath, calms himself, and continues, “I heard your prayer, the first thing I heard when I came back to myself, but I had no way to communicate with you; I was without a vessel. I tried to show you I was willing to help but I realized later, after finding out everything that happened to you once your soul returned to Earth, you probably didn't understand me. When I came to you as your father, I hoped you would understand you and Dean were alone in this as far as my Father is concerned.”

“But, where is Michael? And how did you get this,” Sam gestured to Lucifer indicating his body, “when Nick was destroyed?”

Gabriel answers for Lucifer this time, “Michael's dead,” is all he says solemnly.

“I'm responsible for his appearance,” Olle says from where he has moved back to lean on the other table. “Gabe came to me and asked me for a favor so I did for Lucifer what I did for Gabe when he left Heaven.” 

“How?” Sam asks turning.

“Gabriel killed him,” Lucifer says quietly.

“There is more to it than that Luce,” Olle says seriously. Sam looks at him confused. “I'm older than they are,” Olle says leaning back against the table, picking up his fourth glass of whiskey. “They cannot, even with my permission, take possession of me.”

“But Cas?” Sam says.

Olle shrugs, “Everyone's wires get crossed in there and it's more like I'm possessing them than they're possessing me. That is how I got Cas away from that curse. Because I'm the dominant force, if my body is destroyed, I can bring them back however I want.”

“What the fuck!” Sam exclaims sitting down and emptying his glass again. “Why,” Sam says turning to Lucifer, “are you so different? Putting you down was the hardest thing I'd ever done, you were loud and wild and strong, so fucking strong,” Sam says quietly. “You're different now. Did you do that?” Sam asks, turning to Olle.

“You did that Sam,” Lucifer says smirking. “You destroyed the Mark. You ended its hold on me. You banished the insanity that drove me to commit such terrible crimes against Creation.” He is quiet now but he never breaks eye contact with the hunter. “There is nothing I can ever do to make you understand how damaged, how utterly lost, I was; and there is nothing I can ever do to give you back all those things my madness took from you. If you want to kill me when this is all over, I understand.” He huffs a miserable laugh, “I'll even let you.”

Sam's gaze has been boring into Lucifer's; trying to make sense of what he feels. There is a part of him that is still unsure if anything that is happening is even real. He wonders, frantic for a moment, if he isn't still back in that institution and nothing over the past eight years has been real. He knows better, though, so he takes a deep breath and says, “We'll have to wait and see. I don't know if I'll ever accept your apology, but Dean and I can use all the help we can get.” He turns to Olle, “Where is the key?” Olle hands him the key and Sam, hesitantly at first, approaches Lucifer to release him. 

When Lucifer stands up, his brother is there handing him the whiskey Olle poured for him, he empties the glass gratefully. “We should go,” Gabriel says, “before Dean and Cas get back.” He turns to Sam, “You gonna be okay kiddo?”

Sam just shakes his head with a weary smile, “Yeah, yeah I think I am. I have hope now; something I didn't have an hour ago.”

“We'll see you tomorrow.” Gabriel says. 

“Sam,” Lucifer says. Sam turns to look at the angel, “You're bleeding. Would you let me?” Lucifer reaches out his hand to Sam slowly, “Please?”

Sam nods and Lucifer places his index finger on Sam's forehead. Not only does the bleeding stop but the blood smeared across the floor is gone and the slight buzz Sam had from roughly seven shots of whiskey in a half hour is gone too.

“Thank you,” Sam says in a small shocked voice. “Why are you leaving?” he asks turning to Gabriel.

“We'll all be back tomorrow,” the angel says. “Give you and Olle a chance to ease your brother into it. I know he's not my biggest fan. Killing him over and over wasn't really the best way to form a friendship,” Gabriel says thoughtfully. “Besides, maybe it's best they expect Lucifer, and know you're okay with it, before he shows up.” With a snap of his fingers Gabriel is gone.

“Thank you Sam,” Lucifer says before disappearing.

“Sam?” Olle says when he doesn't move from where he is standing by the empty chair. “Sam, are you okay? Sam?” He is hesitant to move from his spot against the table.

“I need to take a shower,” is all the hunter responds before walking out of the library and down the corridor.

Olle just nods and heads in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen. He figures he can check on his Osso Bucco and, maybe, make another pie. He wants to chase after Sam and force him to say what he is feeling, but he knows he is just as likely to take a beating as he is to get any answers so he will wait until Sam is ready to talk to him on his own.


	28. Chapter 28

Sam stood in the shower for a long time, just letting the hot water sluice over him, before he ever even started to think about getting himself clean. 

Gabriel was alive! And Balthazar! Lucifer was out of the cage and different, so different! Even the touch of his Grace, something that had always made Sam's skin crawl, felt warm and soothing now; no longer cold and empty. And Olle was hiding them. But why? He kept thinking about how afraid Lucifer was to look at him at first, how contrite he seemed; how willing he sounded when he offered to let Sam kill him. Olle said there was more at stake than just his secrets; maybe he was protecting Lucifer from whatever he believed Sam and Dean would do to him. 

Sam grabbed his shampoo and finally started to wash, but he kept turning over and over the fact that these angels were here, alive again, when they most needed them. Was God answering his prayer like this; by bringing Gabriel and Balthazar back, by allowing Lucifer to escape, by making sure Gabriel found Olle, and by making sure Olle found them? He understood, now, why Olle was so nervous about telling him what was going on, about telling him about himself. He didn't blame the man for keeping secrets, not these secrets anyway, but, before he can really trust him again, he feels like he needs to know why he kept secrets and if there are any more. 

As Sam grabs his washcloth and reaches for his body wash, he hears the door open and his brother's voice, “Sammy, you in here?”

“Dean?” Sam says sticking his head out of the shower. Dean is barefoot, wearing just his jeans, towel in hand. “Hey man, when did you get back?” Sam smiles, but a pit forms low in his stomach when he thinks about everything he has to talk to his brother about.

“Just long enough to get unpacked and strip down man,” Dean says stepping into the shower stall beside Sam and turning on the water to heat before he strips off his jeans and throws his towel on the hook outside the stall. “Did you see Olle's car? Jag. I'm gonna gun it outta the garage later tonight and check out the top speed; wanna come?” Dean chuckles, “Or will the two of you be too busy?”

“Funny Dean, and no I haven't seen the car; his friend just dropped it off this afternoon.” Sam starts to scrub himself clean wanting to get far away from Dean, and any conversation they could possibly have right now. 

“How's your foot Sammy and why are your crutches still in the library?” Dean asks as he washes his hair.

'Fuck!' Sam thinks to himself as he starts to rinse, 'how am I supposed to explain that?' He knows he'll have to tell Dean the truth later tonight so he decides on a quick half-truth. “My foot's fine Dean, don't worry about it.”

“Just make sure Cas looks at his when you get out of the shower man, okay?” Dean says.

“Sure Dean,” Sam says as he turns the water off and grabs his towel. He doesn't even bother to dry, just wraps the towel around himself and heads for the door. 

**

Once Sam is back in his room, he barely has time to pull on underwear when Cas knocks on the door. “Hello Sam,” he says standing patiently, waiting for an invitation to come inside. “I'm here to look at your foot,” he says when Sam opens the door.

“Yeah Cas, about that,” Sam says ushering him in and closing the door, “it's been taken care of.” Sam turns around to grab his clothes and starts getting dressed.

“What are you talking about Sam?” Cas asks curious.

“Listen Cas, as soon as Dean is out of the shower, and he sees the pie Olle made, we can all sit down and talk. It will make a lot more sense, but, for right now, just know I'm fine. See,” Sam holds up his foot to Cas for inspection.

“Who healed you Sam?” Cas asks with narrowed eyes and that curious, accusatory, tilt to his head he gets when Sam is trying to keep something from him.

Sam sits on his bed dressed in jeans, a light gray t-shirt, and a dark gray and yellow plaid to put on socks and sneakers. “An angel, Cas, who do you think could have done it?” Sam laughs but can't look Cas in the eye.

Cas comes over to sit in Sam's empty desk chair and asks, “What's going on Sam?”

Sam looks up at him desperate to tell him but knowing it needs to come in stages and Olle needs to be there to explain a lot of it. “Olle has been keeping secrets, you know that,” he rubs his forehead with one hand, “big secrets Cas; huge. But we are going to sit down and talk about them. A lot of it is stuff you and Dean will have to know that I already do; some of that stuff will be hard to wrap your head around, trust me. Some of it is stuff Olle is going to explain to all of us at once.” 

“Okay Sam,” Cas says, “I can wait.”

“I need you to do me a favor Cas,” Sam says seriously. “I need you to stay calm and don't freak out when Olle starts talking. I need you to help me keep Dean calm.”

“How bad is this, Sam?” Cas asks worried now and very, very serious.

“It's not bad Cas,” Sam says quickly. “Just so far beyond anything we could ever imagine and, some of it, is so messed up. I need you to know, you're family! Dean and I are here for you! No matter what, you got that?” Sam wonders how Cas is going to take finding out Balthazar is alive; what kind of guilt that is going dredge up for the angel, after everything he has been through.

“Of course Sam,” Cas says smiling. “I know that. I have, for quite some time, considered Dean, and you, more of a family to me than the Host ever was.”

“Let's get this over with then,” Sam says standing and heading for the door while Cas follows.


	29. Chapter 29

Sam and Cas meet Dean in the hallway outside Metatron's door, just staring, he looks like he has been there a few minutes. When he hears Sam, he turns and asks, “What's up here?” pointing at the door.

'Fuck,' Sam thinks, 'Just one more thing I gotta deal with.' He sighs as he comes to a stop at his brothers side. “Yeah Dean, about that,” Sam rubs the back of his neck, “he was talking shit and I'm not in the mood to deal with him right now so he can rot in the dark for a few days. He has water and he won't starve; just leave him alone, we've got bigger fish to fry right now.”

“Well, what'd he do Sam?” Dean asks curious.

Sam sighs, he had spoken to Metatron before he cut the power to his room and the son of a bitch was more than happy to repeat what he had said to Olle; hoping to startle Sam into some homophobic reaction. 'Meta-douche had really read that one all wrong,' Sam thinks to himself. Fine, he'll tell him.

“Man, he was quoting Heinrich Himmler and Leviticus; talking about how right the Third Reich was about its treatment of gay and bisexual men.” Sam gets angry just remembering what the man had said to him. “When Olle told me what he was doing, when I talked to Metatron and he confirmed it, I killed the lights and I haven't so much as opened the porthole and checked for breathing all day.”

“He saw Olle's tattoo,” Dean says. Sam nods his head, shocked Dean even knows Olle has the tattoo or what it stands for. “Well, you're right,” Dean says firmly, “he can rot for a while.” Dean backs away from the door and they all make their way to the kitchen.

**

When they walk into the kitchen, Olle is making pie, several actually Sam notes; pumpkin, pecan, and something else, he is not sure what but the mixer is spinning away. He makes eye contact with Sam when he looks up and Sam knows he wants to know if Sam is okay, if he is angry with him, if he ever wants to talk to him again. Sam feels bad, then, for just walking out of the library like he did, but he needed time to process everything he just found out.

The first thing Dean notices is the salted-caramel apple crumb pie on the table and he grins. “Peace offering?” he asks Olle.

“Dessert,” Olle responds. “These,” he gestures with a knife he is using to cut lemons, “are a peace offering.” Dean chuckles and walks over to the prep-table to watch what Olle is doing while Sam and Cas sit down at the table. “If you still decide to kill me later just save my jeans, boots, and belt before you torch the body; I like them.” Dean laughs again and goes to the refrigerator.

Sam wonders how Olle can be so nonchalant about it, then remembers him, not two hours ago, confessing to letting Gabriel kill him just to give Lucifer a body, Sam remembers, too, how easily Olle talked about being chased by hellhounds into a volcano. Dean pulls four beers from the refrigerator and Sam watches him open them with his ring before he sits one on the prep-table for Olle, hands one to Cas then drops the other, and himself, down beside Sam while he takes a long pull on his own bottle. 

Sam nods his thanks and empties a third of the bottle in a single drink before saying, “Olle, are we gonna do this or what?”

Olle stops juicing lemons, takes a pull on his beer, and says, “Can we do this while I cook? That way I don't have to sit and talk and watch your brother try to stop himself from gutting me; and not even for wanting you to fuck me.” Sam blushes, he can feel the heat creep up his face, but Dean just takes a pull off his beer with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“It's your prerogative,” the hunter says.

Olle goes back to juicing lemons and focusing, Sam sees, on a dozen different things besides what he is saying. “You already know I'm cursed. Who I was, who cursed me, where I came from originally; none of that makes any difference. What does is what the curse did. What was said was I had to, 'go back to the very beginning ...and stay until the very end.' So the very, very beginning was where I found myself and, from what I've been told, the very, very end is where I'll wind up.” Olle stops there to look at Sam. 

Sam sees Olle watching him, waiting for him to stop him and ask why Olle isn't filling in all the blanks. Sam knows the man deserves some privacy, though, and he lets it go. Dean and Cas don't need to know everything because Olle is right, some of what Sam knows isn't relevant.

It is Cas who breaks the silence. “You can't be,” he says disbelievingly. “It was a story, a whisper; a tale of nothing!” Cas is shocked, but Olle just chuckles and scrapes his pecan filling into his pie crust and puts it and the pumpkin pie in the oven. 

“What are you talking about Cas?” Sam and Dean ask in unison.

“I'm talking about Creation,” Cas says seriously. “A tale Michael did is best to always put a stop to no matter where it was coming from.” Cas shakes his head and takes a long drink of his beer. “A story that's been around since the beginning. It is the tale of evolution and humanity and how it all came to be.” He looks at Olle again, disbelieving, before he goes on, “It says the driving force behind The Big Bang, Creation itself, was something God stole from the void; something he used as both a catalyst and a reactant. He was supposed to have been so enamored of it that Creation was his way of tearing it apart to figure out how to remake it and replicate it.”

“It was a human soul,” Sam says in awe, turning to look at Olle. Cas nods, taking another long drink.

“It was my soul,” Olle says going back to juicing lemons with a fork. “I'm a paradox. Technically, my consciousness shouldn't even exist. It was Gabe's tale, always trying to get the truth out there,” Olle chuckles.


	30. Chapter 30

Sam looks over at his brother, who has slid back into the wall to face the room. Dean is waiting, expectantly it seems, for Olle to continue. 

“But, why that's important, I have a visual and auditory eidetic-memory so I can't forget anything which means I'm valuable to anyone who needs information. Also, the ways I'm able to manipulate Creation; give myself a body, certain other things, means I'm a helluva weapon. Gabe saw that, immediately, and taught me how not to be. I've spent all of history turning myself into a warrior, a hunter, because I was taught my worth early on and I refuse to be used by anyone.” 

Olle is moving around the kitchen, focused completely on what he is doing while he speaks and he would have gone on but Dean interrupted, “What are you hiding then Olle because it has to be a lot so just tell us what's relevant.”

Olle stops, turns to look at Dean and smiles, “You think I'm hiding something about the Darkness; what she really is, what she wants, or how to stop her. You want to know if it's true, what Metatron told you, and you want to know why you let her get away after she so obviously saved your life.”

Sam is shocked now and turns to look at Dean who looks caught in a lie. “What's he talking about Dean?” Sam wants to know. “You said she overpowered you and left. What did she do to you?” Sam is worried his brother may have been walking around for months without his soul and neglected to tell anyone.

“She said you were bound because of the Mark, am I right?” Olle asks. “She was waiting for you and, when Crowley turned on you, she stopped him. Demons are starting to talk, Dean, about the shape Crowley's in right now; it's obvious something happened and I think I'm more right than I am wrong.” Dean empties his beer and just kind of shakes his head. “Your attraction to her is understandable, the familiarity you feel, because of the Mark, draws you to her and, in a way, her to you.” Olle takes a long drink before he goes on, “When she touched me that day, I felt it as well; the burning, endless nothing you just want to give yourself to.”

“She's just a kid, I'm not attracted to her,” Dean says defensively.

“Yes,” Olle cuts him off, “you are. And that's okay, but I need you to remember you're Dean goddamn Winchester! If you fall into that hole, we will all, me included, not only die but cease to be.” Olle turns back to the stove before he speaks again, “What Metatron said is true, about her being God's sister; but I don't think it matters. God may be an absentee father but I doubt He locked her away because He was afraid she would play with His toys. She is consuming souls, she is destruction, the clarity and peace found in killing,” he looks at Dean, “the peace you found giving in to the Mark...it would be worse than allowing Kali to remake the world in Her image. If that is even what she wants to do. I don't think she has an end game because I don't think she ever had a plan, but she is afraid of God and she is determined to destroy everything He has made if for no other reason than to get back at Him for locking her away.”

“But if we know why He did it,” Sam says, “ why she is doing this now, it might be easier to find a way to stop her.”

“In Salem,” Olle says thoughtfully, “near Bridge Street, there is a very, very old house haunted by a very little girl, about five or six. Her parents locked her in her room when she became ill and left her to die; sick and in pain and alone. She has been bound, not only to the house but to her room, by a coven of witches so she can continue to be a tourist attraction; it's disgusting. But, the point is, she is quite mad; even by child ghost standards. I'm guessing Amara's rage and quest for revenge and all out insanity, look what it did to you Dean, look what it did to Lucifer; would make that child look like that happy baby video Claire sent to Cas last week.” Olle goes back to cooking; he is finishing dinner and, Sam realizes, making lemon meringue pie. 

Sam understands what Olle just said, but he is still unsure what they can do to stop her, even with angelic help, if they don't know what she wants. “You don't think she can be reasoned with,” Dean says matter-of-factly.

“I don't,” Olle says pouring hot lemon filling into a baked pie crust. He grabs dirty dishes and goes over to toss them, loudly, into the sink before grabbing four more beers and coming over to sit with everyone else. “Now, what's important, what I've been hiding.”

Dean picks up his new beer and opens it before he says anything, “If you don't care what she wants and you don't know how to stop her then what the fuck do you suggest we do?” He leans back against the wall and tips the bottle to his lips.

“I suggest you find someone who can tell us how God stopped her in the first place and then I suggest you make them help you do that again,” Olle says seriously. “And I've got some individuals in mind who are already helping, who are already more than willing to die, again, for the privilege to do so. And I've got some people in mind who could use a little help in the living department; which I'm more than willing to give them.”

“The only angels who were there, who would remember, were the Archangels and the Gregori,” Cas says seriously. “Not even all the Gregori were present in the beginning, Legion was rumored to be the only one to witness the Darkness and he is long, long dead.”

“Legion,” Olle says with a smirk, “is a tale for another time, when all our companions can hear me tell it, because even they don't know what really happened to him.” Olle goes over to the sink then and starts washing dishes, Sam realizes he needs the mixing bowl for the kitchen aid. “Archangels, though,” Olle says looking up from the sink at Cas, “there are still a couple of them around.”

“You want us to open the cage!” Dean exclaims. “You're out of your fucking mind!”

Olle is drying the mixing bowl as he walks back over to the counter, “No Dean, I don't need you to open the cage. The Darkness broke it open as it tore through Hell. Michael is dead and Cas did a more than adequate job of taking care of Raphael, but Lucifer and Gabriel want to help. Have already been helping.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean is standing up and stalking over to Olle, “You mean to tell me, in addition to the Darkness, we gotta worry about Lucifer roaming free again!” Dean grabs Olle and shoves him, hard, into the refrigerator saying, “Is that what you're doing here? Huh? You're supposed to entice Sam away just like Ruby did and make him the Devil's own doll again!” Dean is roaring by the time he finishes and Sam is up headed across the room to pull him off Olle but half way there he see there is no need. Olle breaks Dean's hold like it was nothing and, though he doesn't retaliate, he shoves Dean halfway across the room just to put some distance between them.

“Dean,” Sam says taking his brother by the shoulder, “I'm not going anywhere. That's not what he's talking about.”

Dean looks at him furious and disbelieving, “You knew about this Sam?” He shoves his brother off him, “How long have you known about this?”

“I just found out about it today Dean. I was drowning myself in the shower, trying to process, when you got back man; I haven't known more than a couple hours longer than you.” Sam takes his brother's arm and directs him back to the table while Olle takes a pull on his beer and turns back to the stove. “Come on Dean,” Sam says soothingly, “just sit down and let me explain.”

“Has Gabriel been alive this whole time?” Cas asks curiously.

“Cas,” Olle says over his shoulder while he stirs something on the stove, “you know I told you he wouldn't desert you to the Darkness. Well, he wouldn't have let you open Purgatory, or fight the Leviathan alone. Just, talk to him tomorrow when they get here.”

“Oh no!” Dean is half out of his seat again and Sam pushes him back down. “No way is Lucifer coming here! I don't want him anywhere near you!” Dean looks at Sam.

“He's already been here Dean,” Sam says gently. “How do you think I found out?”

“He healed your foot,” Cas says in realization.

Sam nods and Dean says, incredulous, “You let him touch you!”

“He's different, Dean,” Sam says seriously. “It was the Mark. Just like you; when it vanished, he's different now than I've ever seen him!”

“Or that is just what he wants you to think! Who's the poor bastard he's possessing now anyway?” Dean wants to know.

“No Dean, he's different, I know he is; I felt it.” Sam says determined to convince Dean he is not just being manipulated. “He isn't possessing anyone, either, empty vessel, he looks like Nick; just like he did before we went into the cage.”

“And how is he not exploding? Crowley would notice all those missing demons or we'd've seen something about exsanguinated corpses.” Dean is upset and trying to find any kinks in the armor so he can be justified in his rage, but Olle and Sam seem to have an answer to everything and, that too, pisses him off.

“I did that,” Olle says. “He doesn't need the blood anymore. He isn't actually walking around in Nick's body. Like Gabriel, he is custom built to contain himself on this or any non-Heavenly plane of existence.”

“How,” Cas asks, “did you do that?”

Olle pulls his Osso Buco out of the oven then puts a lid on something on the stove, turns it down, and comes over to sit. “I'm old Cas and I'm not, not anything really but, somehow, sort of, everything at the same time. That gives me a lot of leeway with manipulating Creation. I can't be possessed; angels, demons, ghosts, nothing.”

“But you have an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam says curious.

“Who would trust a hunter who knew what I knew and could do what I do who didn't?” Olle asks. The three nod and Olle goes on, “Which doesn't mean they can't try. Angels, however, because they need permission, it's more complicated. It's more like I'm possessing them but it's too much feedback in my head at the same time so it renders us both pretty useless after a while.”

“That,” Cas exclaims, “is how you were able to heal me when Metatron cursed me!” 

Olle nods, “Because I can't be killed, neither can the angel and, if my body is consumed by Holy Fire while I'm possessed by an angel, I can choose to save them and, just like I form myself a body, I can form them one as well. Or, I can rip a curse from the angel, hide him away where my soul should be, and use sacrificed Grace to refocus the curse on only me.”

“You were the one who helped Gabriel hide from the Host,” Cas says and Olle nods emptying his beer.

“I'd've killed him Dean,” Olle says getting up and heading back to the stove, “if I'd found even the slightest remnant of the way he was before. He'd've been consumed by Holy Fire hours after the Darkness was released.” He pulls plates from the cabinet and puts them in the now empty oven before turning it off. He turns to the other oven checks the pies before grabbing a measuring cup and a wedge of cheese from the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks as Olle starts to whisk the previously covered pot.

“I'm making dinner,” Olle responds He stops stirring to grab two bags of steamable green beans and throw them in the microwave. “I'm cheating on the vegetables but you'll just have to get over it.”


	31. Chapter 31

'He isn't really cheating,' Sam thinks fifteen minutes later when he has Osso Bucco, Parmesan Pollenta, and Italian Green Beans on a plate in front of him with a glass of red wine. Olle had gone on to talk about Mrs. Tran and explain to Dean and Cas about Balthazar; Cas took that much better than expected Sam thought. Dean seemed to have just accepted what was happening, for now, but Sam is sure he will want to have a long conversation with his brother later, alone. 

“What about Adam?” Cas asks while everyone else settles in to eat.

Sam wonders that as well, he doesn't ever remember seeing Adam in the Cage, and he remembers everything about the Cage. He never thinks about Adam, though, he realizes. He doesn't consider him his brother, doesn't even really consider him family. He feels guilty about that sometimes, but Bobby was right, family doesn't end in blood and it doesn't start there either.

Even Dean, who hasn't said a word since his first bite of food, stops eating to wait for an answer. Olle takes a drink of wine then responds, “Cas molotoved Michael with Holy Fire that day in the cemetery. Holy Fire uses the power of Grace to burn; it will burn under water, it will burn in a vacuum To escape the fire, Michael had to return to Heaven, the only place Holy Fire won't burn. He had to allow Adam to be consumed. Adam's soul was sent back to its Heaven and, when Michael returned to Earth. he was the only occupant of that body.” 

Cas nods his head while Sam lets out a sigh of relief, he doesn't feel so bad anymore about ignoring his brother’s existence. 

Dean says, “Death lied to me. He offered me a choice when he went to get Sam's soul from the Cage: Sam or Adam.”

Sam is shocked by this; Dean had never told him he was given a choice of who to save from the Cage.

Olle takes another bite from his plate then, swallowing, says, “Something I need you all to understand, Sam, I think you got a sense of it today. Lucifer is pretty messed up. That may actually be an understatement. When he crawled out of the Cage and made his way, undetected, through Hell, it wasn't his own doing. Gabriel's first order of business, when he got back, was to find me specifically to get him. Gabriel, Balthazar, and I went into Hell and got him. The visions he sent you, Sam, were his desperate attempts to help even when he was so completely not able to do so. I haven't been keeping secrets this long for my own amusement; the fact that he can sit up and pay attention, that he would speak to Sam, to me, to anyone who isn't Gabriel; I'd call it a miracle if that weren't so cliché.” Olle looks at Cas, “Kevin told me about how you were when he first met you. I'd imagine your brother is going through much the same adjustment period. Gabriel or I have been with him virtually 24/7. When Lucifer received the Mark from God, he was in agony; the agony of an angel is eternal because they don't exist within linear time.” Cas nods before Olle continues, “Gabriel stayed with him then as well. The agony of the Mark's removal has taken a different form, but he is getting better.”

“Who's Beth?” Dean asks completely changing the subject.

“You said,” Sam says, “she was with you when the Darkness was released; when Gabriel found you.”

Olle sighs and thinks he is at least grateful he is getting to eat while he bares his existence for judgment. “It's complicated,” he says looking around the table before he goes back to eating.

“After everything we've heard tonight,” Dean says taking the last bite off his plate, “we can take it.”

Olle swallows the last of his wine and gets up to open another bottle. He fills everyone's glass before he sits back down and, picking up his fork, starts to speak, “When I became aware of the curse, of the fact that I had a history as a normal, everyday person, I felt like it was too much. I couldn't process everything I was and everything I had been because it felt like who I was before the curse and what I became after were too different. So, I had a bit of a breakdown. Beth is the result of that breakdown.” Olle picks slowly at the last few bites on his plate while he tries to figure out how to explain Beth.

“She's you?” Sam asks. “Everything about you, you couldn't reconcile with who you became?”

Olle nods, scraping the last bite onto his fork. After he swallows he goes on, “We're exactly the same, she and I, in terms of collective memory, intelligence, skill, everything. We've just developed a system to coexistence that allows us to be individuals.”

“She's an extreme case of D.I.D.?” Dean asks.

Olle nods. laughing, while he sips his wine.

“What,” Cas asks looking around for an answer, “does D. I. D. stand for?”

“Dis-associative Identity Disorder; multiple personalities,” Sam responds. He is impressed by Olle's coping skills, actually, now that he knows who Beth is, and wants to meet her. “How does that even work?” Sam asks in spite of himself.

“We're two people Sam,” Olle says defensive. “We were one, whole being up to the moment we decided to become two beings independent of what we really are and, now, we are only as connected as, say, a set of identical twins who shared a mild psychic bond. We each remember everything that happened before, but she has a better hold on everything that happened before that.”

So she is just another person, Sam tries to tell himself. It is strange, though, he thinks, to try to so completely remove yourself from who you are. He feels like an authority on running away from who you are, and he wants to tell Olle it never works the way you want it to, but he isn't sure how to say it.

Dean gets up and starts gathering dishes, “You cooked,” he gestures to Sam, “we clean.” 

“Ya know Dean,” Sam says emptying his wineglass, “I did a lot of dishes this morning, and that was while my foot was still injured even.” He is smirking. 

Dean just ignores him and say, “Get up Sammy and go put the leftovers away; that is gonna make a killer midnight snack!”

Olle stays at the table with Cas, just watching them work, and lets Dean take his wineglass when it is empty. He turns to Cas and says, “Coffee?” Cas nods with a smile so Olle gets up and starts the coffee maker. “Dessert; Dean, do you want ice cream?” Of course he does, so Olle starts cutting wedges of pie and puts them in the oven, where he just removed the pecan and pumpkin pie, to warm while Sam and Dean finish cleaning the kitchen. 

When everyone is seated, with coffee, Olle grabs dessert. Cas is the only one to decline and, when everyone has a plate of warm pie, with slowly melting vanilla ice cream, Olle says, “I told Gabe we would see them all tomorrow around two.”

“So,” Sam says, watching Dean lose all contact with reality as he takes his first bite, “what are we talking about tomorrow?” 

Sam looks over at Olle who is watching Dean eat with an appreciative but slightly horrified look on his face and he laughs. “Dean, man, do we need to give you and the pie some alone time?”

“Shut up and try it Sammy,” Dean says looking up at his brother. “This,” he says looking over at Olle, “is awesome!”

“Thanks Dean,” Olle says starting to eat his own dessert. 

Sam has to admit, it is even better than the pear dumpling. 

“When everyone gets here tomorrow,” Olle starts, “we are going to have to spend some time deciding what we want to do next. I have everyone staying at my house in Kansas City; it's warded and protected almost as well as the bunker is. But, do you want everyone together? We are going to have to start making hard decisions.”

Dean and Sam shake their heads while they eat but Cas, not eating, speaks, “What sort of hard decisions?”

“There are people that are dead that we need. How do we get them back? Who, of our allies out there now, can we trust? Who, of those we trust, can we protect? How do we protect them? What are we willing to lose to win this? Who are we willing to lose to win this?” Olle stops talking to take another few bites, thinking, before he continues, “Gabriel and Lucifer aren't entirely sure what their Father did to summon the Darkness, to allow her to be captured and sealed away, but what they remember can be used to extrapolate. Then there is Legion.”

“Legion is dead,” Cas says.

Olle smirks, “I know he is, but that doesn't mean there aren't ways to discover what he knew.”

“Great,” Dean says. “Lots of stuff to think about tonight. Right now, though,” he says getting up and going back over to the stove, “I want more pie.”

Everyone chuckles and continues to eat in silence.


	32. Chapter 32

“Sam,” Olle says as they are all finishing dessert, “were we going to watch The Girl Who Played with Fire?”

“I bought the books today,” Sam says pushing his empty bowl into the center of the table. “I was going to read them first.” Sam realizes it sounds like a brush off the second it is out of his mouth and he can tell by the look on Olle's face that is how the man took it. Then he looks around, Dean is staring too, obviously thinking exactly what Olle is only, instead of disappointed, he looks confused. What bothers Sam is, he doesn't know how he meant what he said. After what happened in the kitchen this afternoon, he knows he wants to fuck him, but after how good it felt to lay in bed with Olle last night and just sleep with someone wrapped up in his arms, he thinks he could really want to do more than just fuck him; and he still isn't sure he can trust him or forget all the secrets. 

No one has spoken and the silence has, Sam realizes, reached Cas levels of awkward. He gets up to refill his coffee cup and asks, “Anyone else?” He makes the rounds with the pot then clears the table and, as he is turning back from the sink, Dean is there.

“Man, did I miss something?” Dean asks. “I thought you two had been playing house for the past three days. What's wrong?” 

Before Sam can answer he hears Olle say, “Hey Cas, can you come help me with something in the library? I was looking up that Sanskrit ritual before you left and you were going to help me, remember?”

“Of course,” Cas says standing up and following Olle out of the kitchen and down the corridor.

Now that they are alone, Dean pulls two beers from the refrigerator, hands one to his brother, and leans on the edge of the prep-table. “Well?” he asks expectantly.

Sam drops on the edge of the table and shakes his head, “I don't know Dean, man. I mean, not nine hours ago we were right there,” he gestures to the middle of the floor where Sam had pulled Olle into his lap earlier today, “going at it. Now, though,...” Sam trails off.

“Is it because of Lucifer?” Dean asks. “Because he kept, is keeping, things from us, from you.”

“No man, it's not that. He told me he had secrets, big horrifying secrets, even, that would make me not want to do this; but it feels like, like something I could have, Dean. Something I could really get to have that is true and honest. I've never had that, ever, with anyone. It feels...” He stops again not sure how to go on.

“Too real, like something you could lose; like one of those things that always gets taken away from us; like Mom or Dad or Bobby.” Dean takes a long drink of his beer and watches Sam shake his head before going on, “It's only really something worth having, Sammy, if you're afraid to lose it.”

“Then how do I fix what I just fucked up?” Sam asks with a sad smile.

“Now, come on Sam,” Dean says coming over and wrapping his arm around his brother before he starts leading him out the door, “you're good at this part. You talk to him.” 

“You really are okay with this.” Sam says amazed as he allows himself to be led down the corridor. 

“O'course I am Sam,” Dean says stopping to look his brother in the eye. “You're my brother and nothing about you has changed. I just know you a little better than I did a few days ago; which, for us, is a marvel,” he grins. 

Sam laughs and they head to the library.

**

Olle looks up as Sam and Dean make there way into the library, “Dean,” he goes over to the box with all their new identification inside, “this is yours.” Olle hands him the large folder with his name on it. “You guys should go through the box too and decide what you want to do with it all.” Olle goes back to where he had been sitting with Cas going over something that looked so old, when the Men of Letters acquired it, it has been mounted between two pieces of glass for preservation.

“What's this?” Dean shakes the envelope at Sam who relays what Olle had done as Dean empties the contents on the table to examine. Dean looks over at Olle after a minute, “Robert? My middle name isn't Robert, I don't have a middle name. And why does this say 1986? I was born in '79. And you, did you mix up our birthdays?”

“To distance you from yourselves,” Olle says not looking up from what he's reading, “it was important to make certain changes; just enough so you could be easily mistaken for yourselves but, upon examination, it could be proven you weren't.” Olle looks up then, “In hind sight, I should have made you younger. As often as you, Dean, have fallen not only through time but in and out of different dimensions not to mention the fact that angels have no concept of age in linear time so you are, in fact, probably years younger than your linear age.”

“What do mean we're younger than our 'linear age'?” Dean asks.

“The whole time you wore the Mark of Cain you didn't age. Every time an angel, any angel, has laid hands on you to heal you, they have shaved time off. You spent time in Purgatory and didn't age. Angelic time travel also has a baring on your age.” Olle looks at Cas, “You should have explained it to them. You should have at least told Dean he was so much younger when you brought him back from Hell.”

Cas shrugged, eyes never leaving what he was reading, “I didn't think it had significance because it wasn't a drastic change. I had very little to work with when I raised Dean from Hell; reforming his body was a difficult task and I didn't realize, until after, that his memories of himself I used were from a time before Sam left for Stanford. Besides,” Cas says looking up finally, “Dean was disinclined to pay attention to anything I said when we first met and, later, it was not a priority.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam says looking at Dean then over to Cas, “how old are we then?”

Cas tilts his head thinking while he looks first at Sam then Dean for a long five seconds each, “Factoring in Dean's age upon resurrection, those times he didn't age because he was in Purgatory, a demon, or inflicted with the Mark, and all the times I, or any angel, has healed him; Dean,” Cas turns to him with a serious face, “you are approximately ten years younger than your actual linear age. Sam,” his gaze shifted to the other brother, “your time as Lucifer's vessel, the time you spent addicted to demon blood, and your time without your soul are all factors. You weren't aging then. Or when you were possessed by Gadreel. His healing, too, brought you back to the age you were before you began the trials. Additionally, Michael's resurrection of you when Uriel killed you in 1978 affected your age. It can be considered safe to assume you are approximately eight years younger than your age suggests.”

“Come on Cas,” Dean says getting up from the table, “let's go give Baby a once over while we talk about what constitutes relevant.” Dean jerks, hunters reflexes, catching Olle's keys; he looks a question at the bigger man.

“If you hot-wire my car, Winchester, I'll maim you.” Olle laughs at Dean's chuckle; he is not stupid. “It's new Dean, don't fuck it up. Do you have any idea how I felt when Linda told me she let Gabe drive?” Dean grimaces as he and Cas make there way toward the garage, leaving Sam and Olle alone; still on opposite ends of the library.


	33. Chapter 33

Sam fidgets in his spot for a minutes after Dean leaves; not sure what to do. He wants to talk to Olle, make him understand he was not brushing him off earlier, but he doesn't know where to begin. Also, Olle returned to his reading and has yet to acknowledge Sam even staying in the library. He takes a deep breath and makes his way to Olle's table.

“What were you and Cas looking into?” Sam asks coming up behind Olle to read over his shoulder; only he realizes Olle is reading actual Sanskrit and Sam wouldn't even know where to start so he sits down in the seat Cas vacated, waiting.

“I'm looking for anything, really. Random writings are, sometimes, interspersed with the odd bit of psychic prophecy. Anything that could, potentially, be about Amara.” He does turn to Sam then and says, “It's easier to get Cas to help since he can read the dead languages you and Dean can't. We're working our way through anything in the archive that could possibly be useful and, since most of the dead languages aren't categorized, because the Men of Letters couldn't read them and hadn't translated them, that means reading, at least partially, through most of it.”

“So, wait a minute,” Sam says, “you can read every written language ever?”

“There are a few I missed in terms of location, but it is easy to go back to the ones I can and work my way forward to the one I need to learn; it takes a few hours but I pick it up quickly. I can't forget anything, ever, remember?” Olle says sardonically.

“How do you keep everything in your head like that?” Sam asks.

“Same way Cas does it,” he says with a shrug. “I actively try not to think of those things I don't want to know or remember, and those things I don't need currently. If I do it long enough, it's almost like forgetting; until I need it again or something reminds me of it.” 

This conversation is quickly going nowhere so Sam decides to just go for it, “I know how it sounded, in the kitchen, when I said I wanted to read the books first, but I want you to know, that's not how I meant it.” Sam reaches out to Olle, places his hand around the man's wrist, and makes steady eye contact despite the churning in his stomach. “I'm just nervous, really very nervous, because I've never gotten to be one hundred percent honest with someone before and that scares the crap outta me, man; but I don't want fear to be the reason I never tried to have something I want. If you still want it, too, of course.” Sam is so nervous his breathing is shallow, his hands are sweating, his leg won't stop shaking, and he knows he is flushed a high, hot red all the way down his neck, but he never breaks eye contact with Olle; searching for any sign of what the big man is about to say.

Olle turns until he is facing Sam completely, their knees touching, and takes both his hands before saying, “I've never had anything like this either Sam.” Olle squeezes his hands and smiles gently. “Telling you everything about me would take too damn long; you'll never know it all, but I can promise to answer whatever questions you do ask me about myself as honestly as I possibly can. I want to know you, Sam, everything about you you're willing to share. This would be new territory for both of us, though, so we need to admit to ourselves, and each other, right now, that we're both going to make mistakes; probably some pretty big ones.” Olle brings his left hand up to cup Sam's face and says, “We just have to go at our own pace, figure out what feels right, be willing to work it out, and be willing to admit it to ourselves if it doesn't.”

Sam smiles and nods his head, “Yeah,” he says letting out a deep breath, “yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

“Good,” Olle says standing and pulling Sam up, into his arms, pressing their chests together, “because I didn't want to crawl into my own bed alone tonight.”

Sam is smiling when Olle leans in to kiss him. 

When Olle pulls away, so both men can breathe, he smiles and says, “Do you wanna watch that movie?”

Sam laughs and nods his head before leaning back in to claim Olle's mouth again. “Let's go,” he says taking Olle's hand and leading him down the hallway toward his room and the unfinished Millennium Series.


End file.
